FROM     AN 


<£Mt0r's  Cable 


L.    G  A  YLOR  D     CLARK 


•MISLIKE  me  not  that  I've  essayed  to  please  ye  : 
Some  things  herein  may  not  offend.' 


FLETCHER'S    'U 


NEW-YORK: 

D.  APPLETOX   AXD   COMPANY,  200   BROADWAY, 

AND  16  LITTLE  BEITAIN,  LONDON. 

1853. 


SRlil)    ACCORDING    TO    ACT    OF    GONOUKS3,   IN    THE    YKAB  1852,  BY 

L  .     O  A  Y  L  O  P.  D     CLARK 


SOUTHERN  DISTRICT    OP    NEW-YOKK 


SAMUEL    D.    DAKIN,    ESQ., 

THE   FAITHFUL   FRIEND   OF   HIS   EARLIER   AS   OF   HIS   RIPER  TZARS, 

£ t; i 5   i » n I n nn 

IS    HOST    AFFECTIONATELY    INSCRIBED    BY 

THE  AUTHOR. 


jvft.45526 


present  volume  is  given  to  its  readers  with 
X  the  old  excuse  of  first-book  adventurers  — '  so 
licitations  of  friends ;'  not  however  without  the 
hope  that  it  may  be  found  in  some  degree  tc 
justify  their  judgment,  or  palliate  their  partiality. 
During  some  nineteen  years,  sitting  alone  or  with 
company  in  the  '  sanctum'  of  the  Knickerbocker 
Magazine,  or  circulating  in  the  society  of  a  great 
metropolis,  or  sojourning  at  intervals  in  the  coun 
try,  the  writer  has  seen  and  heard  much  that  has 
awakened  mirth,  and  felt  much  that  has  elicited 
tears.  Looking  back  now  upon  these  records, 
many  of  them  almost  forgotten,  the  old  emotions 


4  WORDS    PRELIMINARY. 

with  which  they  were  originally  jotted  down 
come  back  again  freshly  upon  him.  It  has 
always  been  his  belief,  as  it  certainly  is  his 
experience,  that  any  one  man  who  feels  and 
enjoys  —  who  can  neither  resist  laughter  nor  for 
bid  tears,  that  must  out,  and  will  have  vent — is 
in  some  sort  an  epitome  of  the  public. 

So  thinking  and  so  hoping,  the  writer  has  been 
induced  to  lay  this,  his  first  humble  c  venture,' 
before  his  readers ;  relying  more  upon  the  ex 
pressed  judgment  of  others  in  the  matter,  than 
upon  his  own.  '  I  am  glad  to  hear '  —  writes  an 
American  author  whose  favorable  estimate  would 
reflect  honor  upon  a  far  worthier  literary  project 
than  the  present — 'that  you  are  preparing  one 
or  two  volumes  for  publication  from  your  i  Table.' 
You  will  perhaps  remember  that  I  once  spoke  to 
you  upon  the  subject,  and  advised  you  to  this 
course.  I  have  often  thought  it  a  great  pity  that 
the  sallies  of  humor,  the  entertaining  incidents, 
and  the  touches  of  tender  pathos,  which  are  so 


WORDS    PRELIMINARY.  5 

frequently  to  be  met  with  in  your  'Gossip,' 
should  be  comparatively  lost  among  the  multi 
tudinous  leaves  of-  a  Magazine.'  *  Kindred  sug 
gestions  have  been  received  from  similar  flatter 
ing  sources,  and  are  at  last  acted  upon. 

Of  one  thing  at  least  the  reader  of  this  volume 
may  be  assured — and  that  is,  abundant  variety. 
There  are  sad  thoughts  and  glad  thoughts  record 
ed  in  these  pages ;  influenced  by  all  seasons,  and 
jotted  down  at  all  seasons  ;  scenes  and  incidents 
in  town  and  country,  and  all  over  the  country ; 
familiar  '  home-views,'  anecdotes  and  '  stories'  not 
a  few ;  many  and  multifarious  matters,  in  fine, 
original  or  communicated,  that  have  made  the 
writer  laugh  ;  and  many,  moreover,  that  have 
moistened  his  eyes,  as  he  wrote  and  read  and 
re-read  them  ;  the  whole  forming  a  dish  of  desul 
tory  '  GOSSIP,'  iii  which  it  is  hoped  that  every 
body  may  find  something  that  shall  please,  and 
no  one  any  thing  to  offend  him. 

*  WASHINGTON  LRTIXO. 


CONTEXTS. 


PAGE. 

GOSSIP  ABOUT  CHILDREN  :  A  Familiar  Epistle 13 

NUMBER  ONE. 

A  REVERIE  of  Boyhood  and  Political  Economy :  A  New  Era  among  Chris 
tians  :  Execution  of  Ground-Mice  :  An  Hour  in  Sing-Sing  Prison  —  Mox- 
BOK  EDWARDS:  Narcotic  Influence  —  a  'Regular  Bu'st':  GEOFFREY 
CRAYOX  and  '  Old  KMCK  '  in  Sleepy  Hollow  —  Hereditary  Lightning :  A 
few  thoughts  on  Death:  Anecdote  of  JARVIS  the  Painter:  A  Ghost- 
Story:  Cool  Reply  to  a  Dunning-Letter :  Children  —  Home  Feeling  in 
Old  Age:  A  'Cute'  Yankee  Clock-Pedler :  Autumn  in  the  Country, 
and  its  Influences :  A  Strange  Horse- Adventure :  An  Involved  '  Com 
mercial  Transaction.' 29 

NUMBER  TWO. 

AN  Independent  Stage-Coach  Driver :  The  Retort  Conclusive :  The  Sea  and 
its  Influences:  The  Deluded  Dog  and  Refractory  Lobster:  Death  of  the 
First-born:  An  Affecting  Incident:  A  Dry  Pump  :  Experiment  upon 
the  Musical  Organs  of  a  Jack- Ass :  The  '  Cloudless  Skies '  of  Paradise :  A 
Rail-Road  'Recussant:'  A  little  Evening-Scene  in  the  Sanctum:  Humors 
of  an  Election  — The  Challenged  'Friend:'  The  True  Hero  — an  Au 
thentic  Anecdote:  Natural  History  —  the  Flamingo:  Puzzling  Ques 
tions  in  '  Logic :'  Reminiscences  in  the  little  Church  at  Lake-George 54 

NUMBER    THREE. 

A  MATTER-OF-FACT  GCEST:  Rain  upon  the  Roof :  A  Mother's  Grief:  The 
Mission  of  Little  Children  :  Acephalous  —  a  New  Definition :  Influence  of 
the  Great  Metropolis  upon  the  quiet  Countryman :  A  '  Dreadful  Acci 
dent' —  a  Yankee's  Revenge:  Suggestion  of  a  Locomotive  on  a  Wintry 
Night:  A  Scotch  'Consolation  '  for  a  Slight:  The  Yankee  in  POWEKS'S 
Studio:  New  Readings  in  HAMLET:  An  'Ugly'  Customer  —  Fearlessness 
of  Rivalry:  Death  of  HOXORA  EDGEWORTH:  Excuses  for  Drinking: 
'  Old  MI-RPIIY  '  of  the  Mohawk :  The  Female  Smuggler 73 


Co  NTE  NTS. 


NUMBER   FOUR. 

THE  Quack-Doctor :  NAPOLEON  and  his  Battles:  Mai-Adroit  Compliment: 
The  Living-Dead :  Pursuit  of  Knowledge  under  Difficulties :  A  Tem 
perance  Story:  Comfort  of  Common  Things:  A  Hog  in  Armor:  Poetry 
of  the  Alphabet :  Authentic  Anecdote  of  the  Duke  of  WELLINGTON  : 
Perils  of  a  Jackass :  A  Man's  Own  Home :  Insignia  of  '  Henpeckery ' : 
The  Helpless  '  Help-Mate ' :  Sonneteering,  with  a  Specimen  :  Reminis 
cences  :  Death  of  a  good  Man 93 

NUMBER  FIVE. 

A  FRENCHMAN  Discomfited:  An  Agreeable  Disappointment:  Weather 
'Complainants':  Geographical  Disorders:  '  Pursuit  of  Knowledge  un 
der  Difficulties':  Sporting  a  New  Language:  Death  in  the  School- 
Room:  Conundrum— 'Forced  Construction':  A  Century  —  the  Past 
and  Present:  A  Dubious  Dinner :  Transposed  ' Cause  and  Effect ':  a 
Book-Seller  at  Camp-Meeting :  True  Value  of  Money  —  '  Note-Lifting:1 
The  Catcher  Caught  —  an  Authentic  Record:  Seeing  Ourselves  as 
Others  see  us :  JAUVIS  and  the  Frenchman :  Autumnal  Farewell  to 
DOBB'S  Ferry Ill 

NUMBER    SIX. 

THE  Gentleman  in  Black :  The  Stabat  Mater :  Conundrums  —  a  Practical 
One:  A  Tribute  to  Art  —  ELLIOTT  and  INMAN:  An  'Original ':  A  Rev 
erend  JEREMY  DIDDLER:  A  Morning  Locomotive  in  the  Metropolis: 
An  'Unfortunate  Memory':  Influenzial  Poetry:  A  Profane  Swearer 
Nonplussed :  A  Two-edged  Compliment :  A  Man  of  the  World's  Advice : 
Senatorial  Bon-Mot:  A  Musical  Enthusiast:  GOD  in  Nature  —  a 
Comet :  '  What's  the  Law  ?  '  —  an  Anecdote 133 

NUMBER   SEVEN. 

CHRISTMAS  Greens  —  The  Cross :  A  '  Picture  in  Little '  of  War :  Raft-Inci 
dent  on  the  Ohio :  Thoughts  of  the  Dead  —  WESLEY  :  '  Searching  the 
Scriptures'  — a  New  Reading:  A  Philosopher  Outwitted:  'Great 
Shakes'  of  a  Dutchman's  Dog:  The  Mysterious  Prince  —  'Poisson 
D'Avril ' :  An  Indian  on  the  Gallows :  Death  of  a  Mother :  The  '  Yan 
kee  Pass':  A  February  Night :  A  Testaceous  Phenomena:  The  'Up 
shot '  of  Marriage :  'Dubious'  Sculpture:  Death  of  an  Innocent:  'Mrs. 
RAMSBOTTOM'  Abroad:  A  Church  Dedication  :  'Under-done'  Apostles: 
Pleasures  of  Memory :  Rum  versus  Water :  Tricks  upon  Travellers: 
Night-Conflagration  —  the  Silent  City ..153 


CONTENTS. 


NUMBER   EIGHT. 

OCR  First  Play  —  Country  Theatricals :  '  Short  of  Bible ' :  Mayor  HARPER 
Caught— a  Temperance  'Pledge':  "Wonderful  Cares  — OILY  'GAM 
MON':  Dr.  Cox  'in  a  Box':  '"Word  Pictures'  — LONGFELLOW:  The 
Mackinaw  Sea-Serpent:  'Destiny'  Doubted:  First  Impressions  of  the 
Kaatskills :  '  Accident '-  al  Acquaintance :  An  '  American  Citizen ' :  An 
Irregular  '  Revivalist ' :  Scenes  in  a  City  Hospital :  Dubious  Deference: 
A  Dutchman  'Done':  A  'Bad  Bargain':  'Visible  Presence'  of 
Death 177 

NUMBER   NINE. 

A  JOKE  in  'Full  Blossom':  A  'Rough  Guess':  Comparative  Longevity: 
Scene  at  Sjpg-Sing  State  Prison :  The  Art  of  Mowing  —  Envy  of  City 
'Artists':  A  'Short-Sighted'  Landlord:  Mock-Auctions:  'Original 
Picture '-Dealers  :  An  Amateur-Fisherman :  Crabs,  and  their  Ways :  A 
'  Contingent  Remainder ' :  The  '  Last  Bitter  Hour ' :  Irish  '  Cousins ' : 
ACareful  Tinker:  '  Exercised  in  Prayer.' 197 

NUMBER   TEN. 

FITFUL  Forebodings  —  Our  First  Baby :  Rochester  Jail  —  a  '  Visible  Sup 
port':  Our  'Quarter'  to  a  Foe:  A  Yankee's  ' Eye  to  Trade ':  Negro 
Eloquence:  'Swaying'  Young  Trees  —  hearing  'Something  Drop': 
' JOHN  SMITH'  in  a  Quandary:  'Doss's '  in  Spring-Time:  A  'Flat- 
footed'  Simile:  Murder  Considered  as  ' Murder ':  Of  Turtles  and  their 
'Abuses':  A  Dying  "Wife  to  her  Husband:  Irish  Shrewdness:  An 
Irish  Blunder :  The  '  Morality '  of  Decent  Dress  —  Artistic  Smuggling.  217 

NUMBER   ELEVEN. 

CLINGING  to  Life :  Insoluble  Problems:  Premonitions  of  a  Consumptive: 
Sunshine  of  the  Grave :  Death  of  Hon.  SILAS  HIGGTNS  :  California  Pil 
grims:  A  'Laid-up'  Ear:  Suggestive  Epitaph:  The  'Inner  Life'  of 
Man :  A  • '  New  '-Milch '  Cow :  A  voice  from  the  Nursery  :  A  Condens 
ing  Conversationist :  Dow  among  the  Tombs :  A  City  Snow-Scene : 
Large  'Understanding':  "Winter  in  the  Country:  Some  Thoughts  on 
Kites, 239 

NUMBER   TWELVE. 

EEFTXEMEVT  of  Impudence:  Coming-on  of  Spring:  "What  is  Going  on 
'Now':  A  'Dumb  Orator':  The  Ornamental  Sempstress:  Life's  'Com 
pensation  ' :  Monitory  •  Meracles ' :  Lines  by  •  LOKD  N.OZOO  ' :  The  Mys- 


10  CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

tery  of  Spring :  A  Locomotive  Antagonist:  A  'Misty'  Pun:  CRISPIN 
Nonplussed :  A  '  Patchcd-Up '  Sermon :  A  Protested  Reference : 
Yankee  'Cuteness  in  Wall-street:  A  Modern  Sacred  Portrait:  A 
Dubious  Eulogy:  'Old  KNICK'S'  Prediction:  Swearing  'in  Name1: 
Funeral-Trees  of  the  Indians 259 

NUMBER   THIRTEEN. 

THE  Inebriate  — a  Warning:  An  Ornament  to  Society:  Anecdote  of  Hon. 
THOMAS  CORWIN  :  A  Child's  Last  '  Good-Night ' :  A  Rich  Restaurant 
'Carte':  Fluctuations  in  Nature :  Fore-Runners  and  Ghosts:  A 'Dread 
ful  Sced'ne'  in  Verse:  The  'Poor  Rich  Man':  BURCHARD  on  Tobacco: 
The  Infidel's  World  to  Come ' :  '  Four  to  the  Pound '  —  Strict  Construc 
tion:  New  Botanical  Plants :  A  Retort  Courteous:  A  Poetical  Quan 
dary  :  An  Impromptu  '  Crow-Bar ' .* 281 

NUMBER    FOURTEEN. 

A  REVERSED  Wash-Tub:  A  Railroad  Lyric:  A  Personal  Funeral:  The 
Toper's  Spectacles:  Rev.  JOHN  MASON  —  Quaint  Table  'Graces':  A 
Military  Dilemma:  Matrimonial  Indifference:  Stanzas  —  'Snow': 
'Funny  Men':  A  Hopeful  Son :  Anecdote  of  WHITFIELD  :  The  —  Gal 
lows:  The  Vork-'Ouse  Boy  — A  Parody  :  OLLAPOD'S  Epistolary  Poetry  : 
Anecdote  of  ALVAN  STEWART  :  A  '  Bore '  in  the  Pillory. 801 

NUMBER    FIFTEEN. 

OPENING  of  an  Ancient  Vault  —  Reflections:  An  Egg-Persuader:  An  Actor 
'Cornered':  Inquisitive  People:  A  Veritable  Yankee  Story:  Vicissi 
tudes  in  '  Getting  to  York ' :  'In  the  Name  of  the '  Ocean  — ' Figs !' : 
A  Self-Dependent  Philosopher:  A  'Strawberry  Ditto':  Sitting  and 
Lying  for  a  Bust:  The  Metropolitan  Stone-Game:  The  Christian  Way- 
ferer. 817 

A  WORD  AT  PARTING...  ..  886 


ip  nlinnt  Cljilftntt. 


A    FAMILIAE    EPISTLE. 


GOSSIP   ABOUT  CHILDREN. 


A     FAMILIAR     EPISTLE 


LET  us  begin  at  the  beginning.  '  The  child  is  father  of 
the  man  ; '  and  by  permitting  us  to  commence  with 
the  following  letter  to  a  brother-editor,  written  in  the  first 
person  singular  —  a  thing  in  itself  very  'singular'  in  the 
present  book — the  reader  will  have  at  once  before  him 
the  longest  paper  he  will  be  called  upon  to  encounter  '  from 
title-page  to  colophon.' 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND  : 

I  LOVE  children.  I  used  to  think  when  I  was  a  bachelor, 
(it  is  a  good  many  years  ago  now,)  that  there  was  some 
thing  rather  presuming  in  the  manner  in  which  doaiing 
fathers  and  mothers  would  bring  their  '  wee  things'  around 
them,  and,  for  the  especial  edification  of  us  single  fellows, 


14  GOSSIP    ABOUT  CHILDREN. 

cause  them  to  '  mis-speak  half-uttered  words,'  and  to  go 
through  with  divers  little  lessons  in  manners  and  elocution. 
But  both  parents  and  children  were  made  so  apparently 
happy  by  it,  that  I  never  could  think,  as  certain  of  my  ir 
reverent  companions  were  wont  to  think,  and  to  say,  that 
it  was  '  a  bore.'  No,  I  never  thought,  or  said  that ;  but 
I  did  think,  I  remember,  as  I  have  said,  that  there  was  a 
little  bad  taste,  and  not  a  little  presumption,  in  such  a 
course. 

I  don't  think  so  now. 

When  a  father  —  and  how  muck  more  a  mother  —  sees 
for  the  first  time  the  gleam  of  affection  illumining,  with 
what  the  Germans  call  an  '  interior  light,'  the  eyes  and 
features  of  his  infant  child ;  when  that  innocent  soul,  fresh 
from  heaven,  looks  for  the  first  time  into  yours,  and  you 
feel  that  yours  is  an  answering  look  to  that  new-born  intel 
ligence —  then,  I  say,  will  you  experience  a  sensation  which 
is  not  '  of  the  earth  earthy,'  but  belongs  to  the  '  corre 
spondences'  of  a  higher  and  holier  sphere. 

I  wish  to  gossip  a  little  with  you  concerning  children. 
You  are  a  full-grown  man  now,  my  friend,  yet  you 
were  once  a  boy  ;  and  I  am  quite  certain  that  you  will 
feel  interested  in  a  few  incidents  which  I  am  going  to  re 
late,  in  illustration  of  my  theme  ;  incidents  which  I  hope 
you  will  judge  to  be  not  unfruitful  of  monitory  lessons  to 
'  children  of  larger  growth '  than  mere  girls  and  boys. 


GOSSIP    ABOUT    CHILDREN.  15 

Don't  you  think  that  we  parents,  sometimes,  in  mo 
ments  of  annoyance,  through  pressure  of  business  or  other 
circumstances,  forbid  that  which  was  but  innocent  and 
reasonable,  and  perfectly  natural  to  be  asked  for  ?  And 
do  not  the  best  of  parents  frequently  multiply  prohibitions 
until  obedience  to  them  becomes  impossible  1 

Excuse  me  ;  but  all  your  readers  have  been  children ; 
many  of  them  are  happy  mothers ;  many  more  that  are 
not  will  be  in  GOD'S  good  time ;  and  I  cannot  but  believe 
that  many  who  shall  peruse  these  sentences  will  find  some 
thing  in  them  which  they  will  remember  hereafter. 

'  The  sorrows  and  tears  of  youth,'  says  WASHINGTON 
IRVING,  'are  as  bitter  as  those  of  age;'  and  he  is  right. 
They  are  sooner  washed  away,  it  is  true ;  but  oh  !  how 
keen  is  the  present  sensibility — how  acute  the  passing 
mental  agony ! 

My  twin-brother  WILLIS  —  may  his  ashes  repose  in 
peace  in  his  early,  his  untimely  grave  !  —  and  myself, 
when  we  were  very  little  boys  in  the  country,  saw,  one 
bright  June  day,  far  up  in  the  blue  sky,  a  paper-kite, 
swaying  to  and  fro,  rising  and  sinking,  diving  and  curvet 
ing,  and  flashing  back  the  sunlight  in  a  manner  that  was 
wonderful  to  behold.  We  left  our  little  tin  vessels  in  the 
meadow  where  we  were  picking  strawberries,  and  ran  into  a 
neighboring  field  to  get  beneath  it ;  and,  keeping  our  eyes 
continually  upon  it,  *  gazing  steadfastly  toward  heaven,'  we 


16  GOSSIP    ABOUT    CHILDREN. 

presently  found  ourselves  by  the  side  of  the  architect  o 
that  magnificent  creation,  and  saw  the  line  which  held  it 
reaching  into  the  skies,  and  little  white  paper  messengers 
gliding  upward  upon  it,  as  if  to  hold  communion  with  the 
graceful  '  bird  of  the  air '  at  the  upper  end. 

I  am  describing  this  to  you  as  a  boy,  and  I  wish  you 
to  think  of  it  as  a  boy. 

Well,  many  days  afterward,  and  after  various  unsuc 
cessful  attempts,  which  not  a  little  discomfited  us  —  for  we 
thought  we  had  obtained  the  'principle'  of  the  kite  — we 
succeeded  in  making  one  which  we  thought  would  fly. 
The  air  was  too  still,  however,  for  several  days ;  and 
never  did  a  becalmed  navigator  wait  more  impatiently  for 
a  breeze  to  speed  his  vessel  on  her  voyage  than  did  we  for 
a  wind  that  should  send  our  paper  messenger,  bedizened 
with  stars  of  red  and  yellow  paper,  dancing  up  the  sky. 

At  last  it  pleased  the  '  gentle  and  voluble  spirit  of  the 
air '  to  favor  us.  A  mild  south  wind  sprang  up,  and  so 
deftly  did  we  manage  our  '  invention,'  that  it  was  presently 
reduced  to  a  mere  miniature-kite  in  the  blue  ether  above 
us.  Such  a  triumph !  FULTON,  when  he  essayed  his  first 
experiment,  felt  no  more  exultant  than  did  we  when  that 
great  event  was  achieved !  We  kept  it  up  until  '  'twixt 
the  gloaming  and  the  mirk,'  when  we  drew  it  down  and 
deposited  it  in  the  barn  ;  hesitating  long  where  to  place  it, 
out  of  several  localities  that  seemed  safe  and  eligible,  but 


GOSSIP    ABOUT    CHILDREN.  17 

finally  deciding  to  stand  it  end-wise  in  a  barrel,  in  an  un 
frequented  corner  of  the  barn. 

I  am  coming  now  to  a  specimen  of  the  '  sorrows  and 
tears  of  youth,'  of  which  GEOFFREY  CRAYON  speaks.  We 
dreamed  of  that  kite  in  the  night ;  and,  far  up  in  the  hea 
ven  of  our  sleeping  vision,  we  saw  it  flashing  in  the  sun 
and  gleaming  opaquely  in  the  twilight  air.  In  the  morn 
ing,  we  repaired  betimes  to  the  barn ;  approached  the 
barrel  with  eagerness,  as  if  it  were  possible  for  the  kite  to 
have  taken  the  wings  of  the  evening  and  flown  away ; 
and,  on  looking  down  into  the  receptacle,  saw  our  cherished, 
our  beloved  kite  broken  into  twenty  pieces ! 

It  was  our  man  THOMAS  who  did  it,  climbing  upon  the 
hay-mow. 

It  was  many  years  afterward  before  we  forgot  the  cruel 
neighbor  who  laughed  at  us  for  our  deep  six  months'  sor 
row  at  that  great  loss ;  a  loss  in  comparison  with  which 
the  loss  of  a  fortune  at  the  period  of  manhood  sinks  into 
insignificance.  Other  kites,  indeed,  we  constructed ;  but 
that  was  the  kite  '  you  read  of '  at  this  present. 

Think,  therefore,  O  ye  parents !  always  think  of  the 
acuteness  of  a  child's  sense  of  childish  grief. 

I  once  saw  an  elder  brother,  the  son  of  a  metropolitan 
neighbor,  a  romping,  roystering  blade,  in  the  merest  '  devil 
ment,'  cut  off  the  foot  of  a  little  doll  with  which  his  in 
fantine  sister  was  amusing  herself.  A  mutilation  of  living 


18  G-OSSIP    ABOUT    CHILDREN. 

flesh  and  blood,  of  bone  and  sinew,  in  a  beloved  playmate, 
could  scarcely  have  affected  the  poor  child  more  painfully. 
It  was  to  her  the  vital  current  of  a  beautiful  babe  which 
oozed  from  the  bran-leg  of  that  stuffed  effigy  of  an  infant ; 
and  the  mental  sufferings  of  the  child  were  based  upon  the 
innocent  faith  which  it  held,  that  all  things  were  really 
what  they  seemed. 

Grown  people  should  have  more  faith  in,  and  more 
appreciation  of,  the  statements  and  feelings  of  children. 
When  I  read,  some  months  since,  in  a  telegraphic  dispatch 
to  one  of  our  morning  journals,  from  Baltimore,  if  I  remem 
ber  rightly,  of  a  mother  who,  in  punishing  a  little  boy  for 
telling  a  lie,  (which,  after  all,  it  subsequently  transpired 
that  he  did  not  tell,)  hit  him  with  a  slight  switch  over  his 
temple  and  killed  him  instantly  —  a  mere  accident,  of 
course,  but  yet  a  dreadful  casualty,  which  drove  reason 
from  the  throne  of  the  unhappy  mother  —  when  I  read  this, 
I  thought  of  what  had  occurred  in  my  own  sanctum  only 
a  week  or  two  before  ;  and  the  lesson  which  I  received  was 
a  good  one,  and  will  remain  with  me  forever. 

My  little  boy,  a  dark-eyed,  ingenuous,  and  frank- 
hearted  child  as  ever  breathed  —  though  perhaps  *  I  say  it 
who  ought  not  to  say  it '  —  still,  I  do  say  it  —  had  been 
playing  about  my  table,  on  leaving  which  for  a  moment, 
I  found,  on  my  return,  that  my  long  porcupine-quill-han 
dled  pen  was  gone.  I  asked  the  little  fellow  what  he  had 


GOSSIP    ABOUT    CHILDREN.  19 

done  witli  it.  He  answered  at  once  that  he  had  not  seen 
\t.  After  a  renewed  search  for  it,  I  charged  him,  in  the 
face  of  his  declaration,  with  having  taken  and  mislaid  or 
lost  it  He  looked  me  earnestly  in  the  face,  and  said  : 

'No,  I  didn't  take  it,  father.' 

I  then  took  him  upon  my  lap ;  enlarged  upon  the  hein- 
ousness  of  telling  an  untruth  ;  told  him  that  I  did  not  care 
so  much  about  the  pen ;  and,  in  short,  by  the  manner  in 
which  I  reasoned  with  him,  almost  offered  him  a  reward 
for  the  confession  —  the  reward,  be  it  understood  (a  dear 
one  to  him,)  of  standing  firm  in  his  father's  love  and  re 
gard.  The  tears  had  welled  up  into  his  eyes,  and  he 
seemed  about  to  '  tell  me  the  whole  truth,'  when  my  eye 
caught  the  end  of  the  pen  protruding  from  a  port-folio, 
where  I  myself  had  placed  it,  in  returning  a  sheet  of  manu 
script  to  one  of  the  compartments.  All  this  may  seem  a 
mere  trifle  to  you  —  and  perhaps  it  is  :  yet  I  shall  remem 
ber  it  for  a  long  time. 

But  I  desire  now  to  narrate  to  you  a  circumstance 
which  happened  in  the  family  of  a  friend  and  correspond 
ent  of  mine  in  the  city  of  Boston,  some  ten  years  ago,  the 
history  of  which  will  commend  itself  to  the  heart  of  every 
father  and  mother  who  has  any  sympathy  with,  or  affec 
tion  for,  their  children.  That  it  is  entirely  true,  you  may 
be  well  assured.  I  was  convinced  of  this  when  I  opened 
the  letter  from  L.  H.  B ,  which  announced  it,  and  in 


20  G-OSSIP    ABOUT    CHILDREN. 

the  detail  of  the  event  which  was  subsequently  furnished 
me. 

A  few  weeks  before  he  wrote,  he  had  buried  his  eldest 
son,  a  fine,  manly  little  fellow,  of  some  eight  years  of  age, 
who  had  never,  he  said,  known  a  day's  illness  until  that 
which  finally  removed  him  hence  to  be  here  no  more. 
His  death  occurred  under  circumstances  which  were  pecu 
liarly  painful  to  his  parents.  A  younger  brother,  a  deli 
cate,  sickly  child  from  its  birth,  the  next  in  age  to  him, 
had  been  down  for  nearly  a  fortnight  with  an  epidemic 
fever.  In  consequence  of  the  nature  of  the  disease,  every 
precaution  had  been  adopted  that  prudence  suggested  to 
guard  the  other  members  of  the  family  against  it.  But  of 
this  one,  the  father's  eldest,  he  said  he  had  little  to  fear,  so 
rugged  was  he,  and  so  generally  healthy.  Still,  however, 
he  kept  a  vigilant  eye  upon  him,  and  especially  forbade  his 
going  into  the  pools  and  docks  near  his  school,  which  it 
was  his  custom  sometimes  to  visit ;  for  he  was  but  a  boyr 
and  '  boys  will  be  boys,'  and  we  ought  more  frequently 
to  think  that  it  is  their  nature  to  be.  Of  all  unnatural 
things,  a  reproach  almost  to  childish  frankness  and  inno 
cence,  save  me  from  a  '  boy-man  /'  But  to  the  story. 

One  evening,  this  unhappy  father  came  home,  wearied 
with  a  long  day's  hard  labor,  and  vexed  at  some  little  dis- 
k appointments  which  had  soured  his  naturally  kind  disposi 
tion,  and  rendered  him  peculiarly  susceptible  to  the  smallest 


GOSSIP    ABOUT    CHILDREN.  21 

annoyance.  While  lie  was  sitting  by  the  fire,  in  this 
unhappy  mood  of  mind,  his  wife  entered  the  apartment, 
and  said : 

'  HENRY  has  just  come  in,  and  he  is  a  perfect  fright ! 
He  is  covered  from  head  to  foot  with  dock-mud,  and  is  as 
wet  as  a  drowned  rat !' 

*  Where  is  he  ?'  asked  the  father,  sternly. 

'  He  is  shivering  over  the  kitchen-fire.  He  was  afraid 
to  come  up  here,  when  the  girl  told  him  you  had  come 
home.' 

'  Tell  JANE  to  tell  him  to  come  here  this  instant !'  was 
the  brief  reply  to  this  information. 

Presently  the  poor  boy  entered,  half  perished  with 
affright  and  cold.  His  father  glanced  at  his  sad  plight, 
reproached  him  bitterly  with  his  disobedience,  spoke  of  the 
punishment  which  awaited  him  in  the  morning,  as  the 
penalty  for  his  offence ;  and,  in  a  harsh  voice,  concluded 
with: 

'  Now,  Sir,  go  to  your  bed !' 

'But,  father,'  said  the  little  fellow,  'I  want  to  tell 
you ' 

'  Xot  a  word,  Sir  :  go  to  bed  !' 

*  I  only  wanted  to  say,  father,  that ' 

With  a  peremptory  stamp,  an  imperative  wave  of  his 
hand  toward  the  door,  and  a  frown  upon  his  brow,  did 
that  father,  without  other  speech,  again  close  the  door  of 
explanation  or  expostulation. 


22  GOSSIP    ABOUT    CHILDREN. 

When  his  boy  had  gone  supperless  and  sad  to  his  bed, 
the  father  sat  restless  and  uneasy  while  supper  was  being 
prepared ;  and,  at  tea-table,  ate  but  little.  His  wife  saw 
the  real  cause,  or  the  additional  cause  of  his  emotion,  and 
interposed  the  remark : 

*  I  think,  my  dear,  you  ought  at  least  to  have  heard 
what  HENRY  had  to  say.  My  heart  ached  for  him  when 
he  turned  away,  with  his  eyes  full  of  tears.  HENRY  is  a 
good  boy,  after  all,  if  he  does  sometimes  do  wrong.  He  is 
a  tender-hearted,  affectionate  boy.  He  always  was.' 

And  therewithal  the  water  stood  in  the  eyes  of  that 
forgiving  mother,  even  as  it  stood  in  the  eyes  of  MERCY,  in 
*  the  house  of  the  Interpreter,'  as  recorded  by  BUNYAN. 

After  tea,  the  evening  paper  was  taken  up ;  but  there 
was  no  news  and  nothing  of  interest  for  that  father  in  the 
journal  of  that  evening.  He  sat  for  some  time  in  an  evi 
dently  painful  reverie,  and  then  rose  and  repaired  to  his 
bed-chamber.  As  he  passed  the  bed-room  where  his  little 
boy  slept,  he  thought  he  would  look  in  upon  him  before 
retiring  to  rest.  He  crept  to  his  low  cot  and  bent  over 
him.  A  big  tear  had  stolen  down  the  boy's  cheek,  and 
rested  upon  it ;  but  he  was  sleeping  calmly  and  sweetly. 
The  father  deeply  regretted  his  harshness  as  he  gazed  upon 
his  son  ;  he  felt  also  the  '  sense  of  duty ;'  yet  in  the  night, 
talking  the  matter  over  with  the  lad's  mother,  he  resolved 
and  promised,  instead  of  punishing,  as  he  had  threatened, 


GOSSIP    ABOUT    CHILDREN.  23 

to  make  amends  to  the  boy's  aggrieved  spirit  in  the  morn 
ing  for  the  manner  in  which  he  had  repelled  all  explana 
tion  of  his  offence. 

But  that  morning  never  came  to  the  poor  child  in 
health.  He  awoke  the  next  morning  with  a  raging  fever 
on  his  brain,  and  wild  with  delirium.  In  forty-eight  hours 
he  was  in  his  shroud.  He  knew  neither  his  father  nor  his 
mother,  when  they  were  first  called  to  his  bed-side,  nor  at 
any  moment  afterward.  Waiting,  watching  for  one  token 
of  recognition,  hour  after  hour,  in  speechless  agony,  did 
that  unhappy  father  bend  over  the  couch  of  his  dying  son. 
Once,  indeed,  he  thought  he  saw  a  smile  of  recognition 
light  up  his  dying  eye,  and  he  leaned  eagerly  forward,  for 
he  would  have  given  worlds  to  have  whispered  one  kind 
word  in  his  ear,  and  have  been  answered  ;  but  that  gleam 
of  apparent  intelligence  passed  quickly  away,  and  was  suc 
ceeded  by  the  cold,  unmeaning  glare,  and  the  wild  tossing 
of  the  fevered  limbs,  which  lasted  until  death  came  to  his 
relief. 

Two  days  afterward,  the  undertaker  came  with  the 
little  coffin,  and  his  son,  a  play -mate  of  the  deceased  boy, 
bringing  the  low  stools  on  which  it  was  to  stand  in  the 
entry-hall. 

'  I  was  with  HENRY,'  said  the  lad,  '  when  he  got  into 
the  water.  We  were  playing  down  at  the  Long  Wharf, 
HENRY,  and  FRANK  MUMFORD,  and  I ;  and  the  tide  was  out 


24  G-OSSIP    ABOUT    CHILDREN. 

very  low  ;  and  there  was  a  beam  run  out  from  the  wharf; 
and  CHARLES  got  out  on  it  to  get  a  fish-line  and  hook  that 
hung  over  where  the  water  was  deep ;  and  the  first  thing 
we  saw,  he  had  slipped  off,  and  was  struggling  in  the 
water !  HENRY  threw  off  his  cap  and  jumped  clear  from 
the  wharf  into  the  water,  and,  after  a  great  deal  of  hard 
work,  got  CHARLES  out ;  and  the}7  waded  up  through  the 
mud  to  where  the  wharf  was  not  so  wet  and  slippery ;  and 
then  I  helped  them  to  climb  up  the  side.  CHARLES  told 
HENRY  not  to  say  any  thing  about  it,  for,  if  he  did,  his 
father  would  never  let  him  go  near  the  water  again. 
HENRY  was  very  sorry ;  and,  all  the  way  going  home,  he 
kept  saying : 

*  *  What  will  father  say  when  he  sees  me  to-night  ?  1 
wish  we  had  not  gone  to  the  wharf?" 

'Dear,  brave  boy!'  exclaimed  the  bereaved  father; 
'  and  this  was  the  explanation  which  I  so  cruelly  refused  to 
hear !"  And  hot  and  bitter  tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks. 

Yes !  that  stern  father  now  learned,  and  for  the  first 
time,  that  what  he  had  treated  with  unwonted  severity  as 
a  fault,  was  but  the  impulse  of  a  generous  nature,  which, 
forgetful  of  self,  had  hazarded  life  for  another.  It  was  but 
the  quick  prompting  of  that  manly  spirit  which  he  himself 
had  always  endeavored  to  graft  upon  his  susceptible  mind, 
and  which,  young  as  he  was,  had  already  manifested  itself 
on  more  than  one  occasion. 


G-OSSIP    ABOUT    CHILDREN.  25 

Let  rne  close  this  story  in  the  very  words  of  that  fa 
ther,  and  let  the  lesson  sink  deep  into  the  hearts  of  every 
parent  who  shall  peruse  this  sketch  : 

*  Every  thing  that  I  now  see,  that  ever  belonged  to 
him,  reminds  me  of  my  lost  boy.     Yesterday,  I  found  some 
rude  pencil-sketches  which  it  was  his  delight  to  make  for 
the  amusement  of  his  younger  brother.     To-day,  in  rum 
maging  an  old  closet,  I  came  across  his  boots,  still  covered 
with  dock-mud,  as  when  he  last  wore  them.     (You  may 
think  it  strange,  but  that  which  is  usually  so  unsightly  an 
object,  is  now  '  most  precious  to  me.')     And  every  morn 
ing  and  evening,  I  pass  the  ground  where  my  son's  voic^ 
rang  the  merriest  among  his  play-mates. 

1  All  these  things  speak  to  me  vividly  of  his  active  life  ; 
but  I  cannot  —  though  I  have  often  tried  —  I  cannot  re 
call  any  other  expression  of  the  dear  boy's  face  than  that 
mute,  mournful  one  with  which  he  turned  from  me  on  the 
night  I  so  harshly  repulsed  him.  .  .  .  Then  my  heart  bleeds 
afresh! 

*  Oh,  how  careful  should  we  all  be,  that  in  our  daily 
conduct  towards  those  little  beings  sent  us  by  a  kind 
PROVIDENCE,  we  are  not  laying  up  for  ourselves  the  sources 
of  many  a  future  bitter  tear  !     How  cautious  that,  neither 
by  inconsiderate  nor  cruel  word  or  look,  we  unjustly  grieve 
their  generous  feeling !     And  how  guardedly  ought  we  to 
weigh  every  action  against  its  motive,  lest,  in  a  moment  of 

9 


26  Q-OSSIP    ABOUT    CHILDREN. 

excitement,  we  be  led  to  mete  out  to  the  venial  errors  of 
the  heart  the  punishment  due  only  to  wilful  crime ! 

'  Alas !  perhaps  few  parents  suspect  how  often  the 
fierce  rebuke,  the  sudden  blow,  is  answered  in  their  chil 
dren  by  the  tears,  not  of  passion,  not  of  physical  or  mental 
pain,  but  of  a  loving  yet  grieved  or  outraged  nature !' 

I  will  add  no  word  to  reflections  so  true  —  no  cor 
relative  incident  to  an  experience  so  touching. 


lutiriv-ltttflrks 

FROil    AN    EDITOR'S    TABLE. 


KNICK-KNACKS. 


NUMBER  ONE. 

A  REVERIE  OF  BOYHOOD  AND  POLITICAL  ECONOMY  :  A  NEW  ERA  AMONG 
CHRISTIANS  I  EXECUTION  OF  GROUND-MICE  :  AX  HOUR  IX  6IXG-SIXO 
PRISON  —  MONROE  EDWARDS:  NARCOTIC  INFLUENCE  —  A  '  REGULAR  BU'ST  '  .' 
GEOFFREY  CRAYON  AND  'OLD  KNICK  '  IN  SLEEPY  HOLLOW  —  HEREDITARY 

LIGHTNING:  A  FEW  THOUGHTS  ON  DEATH:  ANECDOTE  OF  JARVTS  THB 
PAINTER:  A  GHOST-STOEY  :  COOL  REPLY  TO  A  DUNNING-LETTER  :  CHIL 

DREN—HOME  FEELING  IN  OLD  AGE:  A  '  CUTE  '  YANKEE  CLOCK-PEDLEB  ! 
AUTUMN  IN  THE  COUNTP.Y,  AND  ITS  INFLUENCES:  A  STEANGE  HORSE- 
ADVENTURE:  AN  INVOLVED  'COMMERCIAL  TRANSACTION.' 


X  there  comes  a  warm  autumnal  rainy  day,  it 
gives  us  great  enjoyment  to  go  over  (omnes  solus)  to 
Hoboken,  and  repair  to  a  gable-angle  of  the  Swiss  chalet, 
built  by  the  tasteful  STEVENS,  and  there,  under  an  open 
'  weather-board  '  canopy,  gaze  for  hours  upon  the  distant 
city,  spreading  before  us  like  a  map,  and  our  noble  harbor 
and  bay,  covered  with  tall  ships,  their  tapering  masts  and 
cordage  pencilled  against  the  sky,  or  the  lighter  craft,  with 
their  white  sails  glintins:  for  an  instant  in  the  fitful  sun- 


30  A    REVERIE    OF    BOYHOOD 

light  that  steals  through  a  broken  cloud.  There  we  watch 
the  rain  sift  in  long  slanting  lines  across  the  bay,  and  over 
the  town,  and  along  the  majestic  Hudson,  and  think  '  on 
diverse  things  foredone,'  when  we  were  as  yet  but  a  little 
boy ;  especially  of  early  days  in  the  country,  when  witii 
departed  '  OLLAPOD  '  we  used  to  perch  ourselves  upon  the 
top  of  a  fresh  hay  -  '  barrack,'  (soft  and  fragrant  couch  !) 
and  from  underneath  its  straw-thatch  roof  look  out  through 
the  gently-foiling  rain  upon  the  fading  yellow  woods,  the 
meadows  of  dim  dying  green,  and  russet  stubble-fields. 
That  remembrance  links  with  others  of  the  country,  until 
it  merges  in  a  sort  of  mental  essay  on  Political  Economy. 
One  thinks  of  the  reapers  cutting  the  golden  grain  ;  of 
man  and  boy  rolling  the  round  fat  '  murphies '  out  of  the 
black  loamy  soil ;  of  gathering  in  the  yellow-green  oats,  so 
smooth,  and  so  pleasant  to  '  cut,  rake  and  bind ;'  of  the 
Liliputian  forests  of  tall  silky  flax-stems ;  of  the  yellow-corn, 
so  delightful  to  husk  at  night,  with  a  barn-floor  full  of 
girls  and  boys,  waiting  joyfully  amidst  the  sweet  '  husky ' 
odors  for  the  subsidence  of  the  big  '  heap,'  that  they 
may  partake  of  the  repast  of  pies  and  cakes  and  sweet 
cider  that  is  spread  'in  the  house.'  All  these  various 
labors  '  in  due  season '  freight  the  vessels  which  you  see 
tending  to  the  vast  metropolis ;  some  in  the  far  distance, 
some  huddled  close  together,  some  wide  apart,  but  all 
making  for  one  port ;  while  there,  in  the  great  town  before 


A   NEW    CHRISTIAN    ERA.  31 

you,  men  and  'prentice-boys  in  dingy  shirt-sleeves,  at 
hours  when  the  farmers,  their  '  patrons,'  are  in  bed,  '  ply 
their  busy  tools  of  trade ;'  cabinet-makers  are  sending  off 
furniture ;  druggists  are  arming  country  practitioners  with 
'  engines  of  destruction '  against  the  *  great  enemy '  —  or 
their  patients ;  hardware  dealers  are  sending  out  pots, 
kettles,  and  pans,  for  '  stewing,  baking  and  boiling  '  in  far 
western  wilds  —  and  so  forth ;  which,  in  connection  with 
general  commerce,  as  dry-goods,  tin-plates  and  spelter, 
groceries,  hay,  cutlery,  '  grits '  and  *  shorts,'  sarsaparilla, 
turpentine-gum,  putty,  'ging-shang'  root,  codfish,  hops, 
brads,  bees-wax,  soft-shell  almonds,  gun-powder,  osnaburgs, 
fustic,  corks,  madder,  hackled  hemp,  dried  beef,  nail-rods, 
staves  and  heading,  varnish,  and  BRAXDRETH'S  pills,  consti 
tute  what  is  most  usually  supposed  to  compose  the  main 
elements  of '  Political  Economy  ! ' 


IT  was  a  pleasant  thing  to  read,  in  a  late  number  of 
a  metroplitan  religious  journal,  an  account  of  four  clergy 
men,  of  widely  different  denominations,  meeting  weekly 
at  each  others  houses,  in  a  New-England  village,  for 
religious  communion  and  prayer.  The  liberal  Christian 
spirit  which  prompted  this  act  did  not  exist  formerly  in 
that  section,  nor  indeed  any  section,  of  the  Union  ;  and  we 
hail  its  appearance  with  sincere  pleasure.  '  Other  sheep  I 


32          EXECUTION    OF    GROUND- MICE. 

have,'  said  our  SAVIOUR,  '  which  are  not  of  this  fold ;  them 
also  I  must  bring,  and  they  shall  hear  my  voice ;  and  there 
shall  be  one  fold  and  one  shepherd.'  Why  should  they, 
who  profess  to  lead  and  point  the  way  to  heaven,  dwell 
upon  mere  differences  of  doctrine,  which  touch  neither  the 
heart  nor  the  life  ?  Let  them  rather  say,  looking  up  to  a 
common  REDEEMER  : 

'  0  CRUCIFIED  !  we  share  thy  cross, 

Thy  passion  too  sustain ;  •  , 

We  die  THY  death  to  live  THY  life, 
And  rise  with  THEE  again.' 


L 's  '  Reminiscence  of  Boyhood ''  was   a   positive 

treat.  Well  do  we  remember  the  '  Execution  of  the 
Ground-Mice]  as  performed  by  '  OLLAPOD  '  and  the  writer1 
hereof,  when  we  were  '  wee  things.'  The  prisoners  were 
caught  in  the  act  of  theft,  under  a  '  shock '  of  cut-corn, 

G  f 

after  an  ineffectual  attempt  at  escape,  and  were  confined  in 
a  square  stone  prison,  '  digged  i'  the  earth'  of  the  meadow. 
We  slept  but  little  the  first  night  of  their  confinement;  we 
thought  of  them  during  the  night-watches,  and  talked  of 
them,  as  Giant  DESPAIR  talked  with  his  wife  of  CHRISTIAN 
and  HOPEFUL,  shut  up  in  Doubting-Castle.  In  the  morn 
ing  we  visited  the  prison  betimes,  and  fed  the  '  plaintiffs 
and  '  examinationed  '  them  as  well  as  DOGBERHY  himself 


A    SCENE    AT    S  i  -\  G  -  S  i  N  G    PRISON.       33 

could  have  done.  We  continued  to  visit  them  for  several 
days  afterward ;  and  their  bearing  evincing  no  penitence, 
they  were  condemned  to  be  hung,  and  a  day  was  appointed 
for  their  execution.  We  had  seen  a  model  of  a  gallows  on 
the  cover  of  the  '  STORY  OF  AMBROSE  GWIXETT,'  and  '  OL- 
LAPOD  '  constructed  a  very  secure  '  institution '  of  that 
kind ;  and  when  the  fatal  morning  arrived,  with  all  due 
privacy  the  culprits  were  brought  forth,  the  thread  of 
death  which  was  to  clip  the  thread  of  their  lives  being 
round  their  necks.  They  were  addressed  in  movino-  terms 
by  OLLAPOD,  and  assured  that  all  hope  of  reprieve  was 
ridiculous ;  it  could  not  be  thought  of  by  the  '  authorities' 
for  a  moment.  '  They  must  prepare  to  mount  the  scaf 
fold  ! '  They  walked,  *  supported  '  partly  by  the  '  rope ' 
around  their  necks,  with  firm  hind-legs,  up  the  ladder,  and 
the  'fatal  cord  '  was  adjusted  to  the  transverse  beam.  It 
was  a  moment  to  be  remembered.  At  a  signal  given  by 
the  jotter-down  hereof,  the  trap-door  fell,  and  they  were 
launched  into  —  liberty  !  For  the  thread  broke,  and  the 
1  wretched  culprits '  were  soon  safe  in  the  long  grass  of  the 
meadow.  It  was  a  narrow  escape  for  'em  ! 


WE  passed  an  hour  in  the  Sing-Sing  State-Prison  trie 
other  day ;  and  while  regarding  with  irresistible  sympathy 
the  wretched  inmates,  we  could  not  help  thinking  how 
2* 


34       A    SCENE    AT    SING- SING    PRISON. 

littic,  after  all,  of  the  actual  suffering  of  imprisonment  is 
apparent  to  the  visitor.  The  ceaseless  toil,  the  coarse  fare, 
the  solemn  silence,  the  averted  look,  the  yellow-white  palor, 
of  the  convict ;  his  narrow  cell,  with  its  scanty  furniture, 
his  hard  couch  ;  these  indeed  are  '  visible  to  the  naked  eye.' 
Yet  do  but  think  of  the  demon  THOUGHT  that  must  'eat 
up  his  heart'  during  the  long  and  inconceivably  dismal 
hours  which  he  passes  there  in  darkness,  in  silence,  and 
alone !  Think  of  the  tortures  he  must  endure  from  the 
ravages  of  that  pleasantest  friend  but  most  terrible  enemy, 
Imagination  !  Oh,  the  height,  the  depth,  the  length  and 
breadth,  of  a  sensitive  captive's  sorrow !  As  we  came 
away  from  the  gloomy  scene,  we  passed  on  a  hill,  within 
the  domain  of  the  guard,  the  Prison  Potter's-Field,  where 
lie,  undistinguished  by  head-stone  or  any  other  mark,  the 
bones  of  those  who  had  little  else  to  lay  there,  when  their 
life  of  suffering  was  ended.  There  sleeps  MONROE  ED 
WARDS,  whose  downward  fate  we  had  marked  in  successive 
years. 

We  first  saw  him  when  on  his  trial;  a  handsome, 
well-dressed,  black- whiskered,  seeming  self-possessed  person, 
with  the  thin  varnish  of  a  gentleman,  and  an  effrontery 
that  nothing  could  daunt.  Again  we  saw  him,  while  hold 
ing  court  with  courtezans  at  the  door  of  his  cell,  at  '  The 
Tombs,'  the  day  before  he  left  for  Sing-Sing  ;  clad  in  his 
morning-gown,  with  luxurious  whiskers,  and  the  manners 


NARCOTIC    INFLUENCE.  35 

of  a  pseudo-prince  receiving  the  honors  of  sham-subjects. 
The  next  time  we  saw  him  he  was  clad  in  coarsest  'felon- 
stripe  ;'  his  head  was  sheared  to  the  skull ;  his  whiskers 
were  no  more ;  a  dark  frown  was  on  his  brow  ;  his  cheeks 
were  pale,  and  his  lips  were  compressed  with  an  expression 
of  remorse,  rage  and  despair.  Xever  shall  we  forget  that 
look  !  He  had  a  little  while  before  been  endeavoring  to 
escape,  and  had  been  punished  by  fifty  lashes  with  a  cat-o'- 
nine-tails;  four  hundred  and  fifty  stripes  on  the  naked 
back ! 

Once  again  we  saw  him,  after  the  lapse  of  many 
months.  Time  and  suffering  had  done  their  work  upon 
him.  His  once-erect  frame  was  bowed  ;  his  head  was  quite 
bald  at  the  top,  and  its  scanty  bordering-hair  had  become 
gray.  And  thus  he  gradually  declined  to  his  melancholy 
'west  of  life,'  until  he  reached  his  last  hour;  dyin<r  in  an 
agony  of  terror ;  gnawing  his  emaciated  fingers,  to  con 
vince  himself  that  he  was  still  living ;  that  the  appalling 
change  from  life  to  death  had  not  yet  actually  taken  place ! 
And  now  he  sleeps  in  a  felon's  grave,  with  no  record  of 
his  name  or  fate.  Is  not  the  way  of  the  transgressor 
*  hard  ?' 


'  THIS  pipe 's  my  pillar  of  clouds, 
Such  meteors  I  love  to  utter  : 

More  than  Welsh -men  do  cheese. 

Or  an  English-man  ease. 
Or  a  Dutchman  loves  salt  butter. 


36  GEOFFREY    CRAYON. 

'  If  riches  be  but  a  smoak, 
And  fame  be  but  a  vapor, 

Here's  a  rich  mine  indeed 

In  this  fumy  weed, 
And  honor  enough  in  a  taper !' 

WE  are  reminded  by  these  quaint  stanzas,  from  '  The 
Christmas  Ordinary,'  of  a  circumstance  mentioned  to  us 
by  an  old  bank-notary  of  this  town.  He  says  that  he  has 
seldom  presented  a  notice  of  protest,  to  a  large  amount, 
wherein  he  did  not  find  the  delinquent  smoking  a  cigar. 
The  bankrupt  had  made  up  his  mind  to  the  dread  alternative 
of  failing,  and  his  chief  solace  was  the  fumes  of  the  nar 
cotic  weed.  Such  a  philosopher  it  was,  who,  when  our  notary 
presented  him  with  the  protest  of  a  note  for  twenty  thou 
sand  dollars,  with  the  salvo,  that  '  he  presumed  it  was  a 
mistake,  or  an  oversight,'  replied,  '  Oh,  no ;  no  mistake : 
it's  a  reg'lar  bu'st ! 


'  YON  murky  cloud  is  foul  with  rain'  that  here  at  Pier- 
mont  we  see  rolling  slowly  over  the  hills  that  environ 
Sleepy -Hollow,  on  the  other  side  of  the  river.  Even  while 
we  watch  it,  it  begins  to  shake  its  skirts,  and  to  sift  down 
upon  the  fading  landscape  its  '  superflux  of  shower.' 
Looking  at  this,  we  cannot  choose  but  think  of  a  memo 
rable  excursion  which  the  writer  hereof  once  made  with 
GEOFFREY  CRAYON  through  the  wizzard  region  of  Sleepy- 


A  N  D     ;  0  L  D     K  XI  C  K  . '  37 

Hollow,  a  neighborhood  which  his  own  pen  had  made 
world-wide  famous.  The  morning  had  been  thunderous 
and  showery  ;  nor  did  it  entirely  brighten  up  until  the  re 
moval  of  the  first  champagne-cork  at  the  hospitable  table 
of  '  Sunnyside ;'  always  a  precursor,  as  the  host  remarked, 
of  'pleasant  weather  about  this  time.'  After  dinner,  pre 
ceded  by  the  ladies  of  the  household  and  another  guest 
in  the  family-carriage,  Mr.  CRAYON,  in  a  light  open  wagon, 
'tooled'  the  'Old  KNICK'  over  the  high  eastern  hills  that 
enclose  the  sheltered  valley  where  in  their  day  lived  and 
flourished  old  BALTUS  VAX  TASSEL,  and  his  blooming 
daughter  KATRINE.  The  sun  came  out  between  the  pearl- 
colored  opaque  clouds;  the  birds  began  to  sing  in  the 
trees;  a  bobolink  was  'rising  and  sinking  on  a  long 
flaunting  weed'  in  an  adjoining  field  ;  and  every  thin  a;  in 
nature  was  bright  and  smiling.  Xow  it  came  to  pass,  how- 
beit,  that  when,  beguiling  the  way  with  much  remember- 
able  converse,  we  came  to  the  brow  of  the  last  hill  that 
overlooks  the  turn  of  the  road  into  the  valley,  one  of  the 
aforesaid  opaque  clouds,  at  first  no  bigger  than  a  man's 
hand,  but  which  had  been  gradually  'gathering  fatness,' 
suddenly  darkened,  and  presently  '  opened  upon  us ;'  also 
there  were  thunderings  and  lightnings ;  and  trees,  singly 
and  in  ranks,  tossed  their  plumes  of  green,  and  battled 
with  the  storm.  Moreover,  the  rain  now  descended  amain  ; 
insomuch  that  Mr.  CRAYON  wheeled  suddenly  into  an  ano-]c 


38     GEOFFREY    CRAYOX:    ;OLD    KNICK.' 

of  a  rail-fence  that  skirted  an  umbrageous  grove,  dis 
mounted,  clambered  over,  and  took  shelter  under  an  adja 
cent  tree,  holding  over  his  head  meanwhile  the  cushioned 
wagon-seat,  adown  which,  as  from  a  spout,  the  rain  poured 
from  his  back.  '  Why  don't  you  come  under  here,  and  be 

comfortably  housed,  as  /  am  ?'  asked   the   Sleepy-Hollow 

•    *  • 

historian,  with  amusing  mock  gravity :     '  Whereto  thus 

then '  '  Old  KNICK  :'  '  Dare  n't  do  it,  dear  Sir  ;  'fraid  of  the 
lightning,  now  playing  about  us ;  had  a  near  relation 
once  struck  with  the  '  electric  fluid '  (the  kind  always  men 
tioned  by  country  newspapers  as  the  most  fatal)  wrhile 
standing  under  a  tree;  came  near  dying  —  but  didn't.* 
*  Oh  !'  answered  Mr.  CRAYON,  *  that  alters  the  case :  *  it 
runs  in  the  family,  eh  ?" 

Well,  well;  the  idea  of  lightning  'running  in  a  fam 
ily;'  the  odd  appearance  of  the  speaker,  with  his  in 
verted  leathern  cushion  on  his  head,  under  which  he 
looked  like  a  Roman  beneath  his  tortoise-shell  shield; 
the  after  excursion  through  the  valley,  with  all  that  we 
saw  and  heard  by  the  way ;  the  appearance  of  a  satu 
rated  guest  about  the  hearth  of  '  Sunnyside '  that  night, 
clad  in  roomy  habiliments  of  the  host ;  all  these  manifold 
recollections  have  arisen  in  about  the  space  of  a  minute. 

'  Cur'ous'  and  very  pleasant  are  the  matters  lodged  in 
the  thousand  cells  of  memory ! 


THOUGHTS    ox    DEATH.  39 

'  Thoughts  on  Death '  are  well  intended,  but  they  do 
not  contain  any  thing  very  original.  This  is  the  only  sub 
ject  upon  which  every  body  speaks  and  writes  without  a 
possibility  of  having  experienced  what  they  undertake  to 
discuss.  Certainly  it  is  an  awful  moment  when  the  last 
nutter  expires  on  the  lips ;  when  the  incomprehensible  soul 
solves  the  solemn  secrets  of  nature,  and  blends  the  past, 
the  present  and  the  future  together.  '  If  death,'  says  an 
old  author,  '  puts  an  end  to  the  enjoyment  of  some,  it  ter 
minates  the  sufferings  of  all.  I  care  not  what  becomes  of 
this  frail  bark  of  my  flesh,  so  I  but  save  the  passenger.1 
When '  gray  hairs  besnow  the  brow,  and  grayer  thoughts  the 
heart,'  how  many  there  are,  as  they  lay  their  heads  night 
ly  upon  their  pillows,  who  could  wish  that  the  slumbers 
which  foil  around  their  heads  were  the  forerunners  of  that 
sleep  which  shall  restore  their  borrowed  powers  to  their 
original  non-existence  !  They  have  come  to  consider  life 
as  but  a  momentary  convulsion  between  two  tranquil  eter 
nities  ;  an  avenue  to  death,  as  death  is  the  gate  that  opens 
to  a  new  and  enduring  life.  '  Ever  close  by  the  gate  of 
the  tomb,'  says  the  thoughtful  TEUFELSDROCKH,  « I  look 
upon  the  hostile  armaments  and  pains  and  penalties  of 
tyrannous  life,  placidly  enough,  and  listen  to  its  loudest 
threatenings  with  a  still  smile.'  The  world  is  a  prison,  out 
of  which  many  ar'e  daily  selected  for  execution  : 

'  DEATH  anon  must  come 

To  all ;  hot  tears  shall  macerate 


40     ANECDOTE   OF   JARVIS,  THE    PA  INTER. 

Each  hardened  cheek  of  this  vain  multitude.  • 

When  you  are  dancing,  by  and  by,  that  fop, 

"Wilted  with  grief,  will  lean  upon  an  urn  ! 

All  days  are  some  one's  black  day ;  this  is  ours, 

To-morrow  theirs.    The  Cap-and-Bells  will  drive 

Boys  from  the  window  where  his  child  is  dying.' 

Who  does  not  sometimes  '  think  on  these  things  T 
Who  does  not,  in  his  thoughtful  hours,  at  summer  even 
tide,  when  the  great  sun  has  gone  down  the  glowing  west, 
or  in  the  still  night-watches,  or  on  awakening  in  the  serene 
morning,  call  to  mind  the  solemn  truth,  that  'we  must  all 
lie  down  alike  in  the  dust,  and  the  worms  shall  cover  us  ?' 
But  *  the  shortest  life  is  long  enough  if  it  lead  to  a  better, 
and  the  longest  life  is  too  short  if  it  do  not.' 


1  Sitting  for  a  Portrait''  is  an  old  subject,  not  very 
felicitously  handled.  '  Speaking  of  portraits,'  there  is  a 
very  good  story  told  of  JARVIS,  the  painter,  which  we 
think  will  be  new  to  many  of  our  readers.  When  his 
bacchanalian  propensities  had  rendered  him  rather  an 
unequal  if  not  an  unsafe  artist,  lie  was  employed  by  a 
gentleman  in  a  Southern  city  to  paint  his  wife,  a  miracle 
of  plainness,  under  the  stipulation  that  a  pint  of  wine,  at 
a  single  sitting,  must  be  the  extent  of  his  potations. 
JARVIS  assented,  and  in  due  time  produced  a  perfect  fac 
simile  of  the  lady.  On  exhibiting  it  to  the  husband,  he 


A    GHOST   STORY.  41 

seemed  disappointed.  It  was  too  literal  a  transcript  of  the 
original.  'Couldn't  you  have  given  it,'  said  he  to  the 
painter,  '  a  little  less  -  -  that  is,  couldn't  you  give  it 

now  a  little  more .'     *  If  you  expect  me,'  interposed 

JARVIS,  seeing  the  husband's  drift  at  once,  '  if  you  expect 
me  to  make  a  handsome  portrait  of  your  wife,  I  must 
have  more  than  a  pint  of  wine  at  a  sitting !  I  couldn't 
get  up  imagination  enough  to  make  her  even  good-look 
ing,  under  a  quant  at  the  very  least !'  The  gentleman 
'  left  the  presence.' 


WE  are  not,  as  a  general  fact,  a  believer  in  ghosts  ;  but 
the  following  circumstances  will,  we  think,  stagger  the 
incredulous  reader,  as  we  confess  it  staggered  us.  The 
relator,  when  a  boy,  lived  in  the  country.  While  some 
where  in  his  early  'teens,  he  was  sent  by  his  father,  on  a 
dim  half-rnoonshiny  November  evening,  to  accompany  a 
young  girl,  the  daughter  of  a  distant  neighbor,  to  her 
nome.  The  road  in  one  place  led  along  the  side  of  a 
stone  wall,  which  surrounded  a  grave  yard  in  a  sparse 
grove,  on  a  breezy  eminence,  about  half-way  to  their  place 
of  destination.  Having  company,  he  thought  little  of  the 
grave-yard,  until  he  arrived  opposite  to  it,  on  his  return 
alone.  He  was  a  brave  lad  ;  but  his  heart  beat  thick  and 
fast  when  his  progress  was  suddenly  arrested  by  a  pro 
longed  groan,  proceeding  from  the  '  place  of  graves.'  His 


42  A     Gr  HOST     STORY. 

first  thought  was  to  run  ;  the  next,  that  his  father's  old 
negro-man  'JAKE,'  who  was  up  to  all  sorts  of  practical 
jokes,  had  got  into  the  grave-yard,  on  purpose  to  frighten 
him,  as  he  came  along  back.  This  idea  put  him  upon  his 
mettle.  He  picked  up  three  or  four  '  rocks,'  as  they  say 
at  the  South,  and  clambered  up  on  the  wall.  Looking 
down  upon  the  field  of  irregular  tomb-stones,  some  rising 
high  in  the  faint  moonlight,  and  others  shrinking  away  in 
shadow,  he  called  out :  '  You  can't  come  it  JAKE  !  1 
know  you  !  And  if  you  do  that  again,  I'll  fix  your  black 
flint  for  you  !  I've  got  some  stones  here,  and  I'll  make 
you  fed  'em,  you  blasted  nigger ! '  But  there  was  no 
response ;  only  a  deep  groan.  He  forthwith  dispatched  a 
'  rock '  in  the  direction  whence  the  sound  proceeded. 
Nothing  moved  —  not  a  sound  was  heard.  '  Now  be  done, 
JAKE  ! '  exclaimed  the  now  slightly  terrified  boy, '  or  I'll 
throw  again :  these  stones  will  kill  you  in  a  minute,  if 
they  hit  you  ! '  The  answer  to  this  threat  was  an  agoniz 
ing  sound,  something  between  a  groan  and  a  long  sub 
dued  howl ;  the  unearthly  voice  ending  in  a  trembling 
cadence,  as  though  there  had  a 

'  A  GUST  of  wind  sterte  up  behind, 
And  whistled  through  the  bones ' 

of  some  poor  ghost,  shaking  with  the  cold  of  a  November 
night ;  but  there  was  no  other  reply.  On  looking  more 


COOL   REPLY   TO   A   Dux  XING-LETTER.    43 

closely,  however,  the  trembling  lad  distinctly  saw  a  body, 
all  in  white,  lying  between  two  graves,  not  far  off,  and 
beckoning  to  him  with  long,  attenuate  arms,  and  occa 
sional  groaning  in  spirit,  as  a  spirit  would  naturally  do. 
'  Well,  who's  afraid  ? '  reasoned  the  lad  ;  '  if  it  is  a  ghost, 
it  can't  hurt  me  ;  if  it  ain't  a  ghost,  blast  the  critter  !  I  can 
hurt  him  —  and  I  will ! '  He  now  jumped  down  from  the 
wall,  and  advanced  to  the  spot;  and  there  he  found, 
sprawling  on  her  back,  between  two  grave-hillocks,  her 
head  twisted  round  against  the  inner-side  of  one  of  the 
marble  head-stones,  his  fathers  old  white  mare!  She 
had  met  with  a  sad  accident  while  wandering  among  the 
tombs,  and  cropping  the  fall-growth  of  timothy  and  clover 
1  which  grew  thereby.'  She  had  fallen,  rolled  over  upon 
her  back  between  two  graves,  and  was  unable  to  rise. 
The  secret  was  now  out.  lie  had  often  heard  the  dis 
tressing  groans  of  a  horse  in  pain,  and  saw  how  easily  he 
had  mistaken  the  slow-moving  legs  of  'Old  White'  for 
the  beckoning  of  ghostly  hands. 


WE  have  seen,  and  read  of,  some  *  cool '  things  in  our 
day,  but  the  following,  which  we  derive  from  an  esteemed 
and  always  entertaining  correspondent,  is  positively  *  iced.' 
A  young  lawyer  got  his  first  note  for  collection.  It  was 
against  a  country  customer  ;  so  he  sat  down  and  wrote 


44  COOL  REPLY  TO  A  DUNN  ING- LETTER. 

him  a  letter,  in  due  form,  advising  him  that  his  note  was 
left  for  collection,  that  it  '  had  run  a  long  time,'  and  re 
quired  immediate  attention  to  '  save  costs.'  In  about  ten 
days  he  received  this  answer  : 

«  Valley  Forks,  November  15,  1849. 

'  F.  T.  H.,  ESQ.  :  DEAR  SIR  :  I  received  your  polite  note  of  the 
fifth  instant  this  day.  It  was  directed  to  -the  post-office  at  Free 
town.  The  mail  comes  from  your  village  to  Tompkinsville  every 
day  by  the  stage,  which  runs  from  your  place  to  Owego,  leaving 
your  village  at  six  o'clock  in  the  forenoon.  From  Tompldnsville 
there  is  a  mail  every  other  day  to  Freetown,  and  also  to  Valley 
Forks.  From  thence  there  is  a  cross-mail  around  the  hills  through 
the  lower  towns  in  this  county  to  our  place  once  a  week,  but  the 
post-masters  on  that  route  can't  read  very  well,  and  sometimes 
keep  a  letter  over  one  mail  to  spell  out  the  direction.  By  direct 
ing  your  letters  to  this  office,  where  I  get  my  papers,  I  should  get 
them  generally  in  about  three  days  after  you  mail  them,  and  about 
a  week  or  ten  days  sooner  than  if  directed  to  Freetown  ;  which 
delay  might,  in  some  cases,  be  of  considerable  consequence.  I 
hope,  my  dear  Sir,  you  will  not  suffer  any  inconvenience  from  it 
this  time ;  but  I  thought  it  best,  as  you  seemed  a  little  ignorant  of 
the  geography  of  this  part  of  the  country,  to  give  you  this  infor 
mation,  that  you  might  in  future  know  how  to  direct  to,  dear  Sir, 

'  Yours  respectfully, 

'  JOHN  CALKINS. 

'  P.  S.  — As  to  that  note :  you  say  '  it  has  run  a  long  time.'  I 
can  only  say,  as  the  boy  said  of  the  molasses,  '  Let  her  run  ! ' 

It  strikes  us  that  it  would  be  rather  sharp  practice  to 
serve  a  summons  and  complaint  on  that  customer ! 


REMEMBERED  CHILDHOOD.      45 

RARE    little   'plants'   for  the   immortal  gardens  and 
groves  of  the  '  better  land '  are  children  !     How  continually 
we  '  oldsters '  go  back  to  our   earliest  days  !     Take  up, 
over  your  morning  meal,  a  daily  journal,  and  running  your 
eye,  faint-readingly,  along  what  may  interest  you  pleasantly, 
perhaps  exultantly,  you  casually  glance  (in  passing  most 
likely  to  some  other  department  of  the  paper  which  has 
also  an  especial  charm  for  you)  at  the  deaths.     There  is 
recorded  the  demise  of  a  metropolitan   merchant.     You 
knew  him,  when  a  boy,   in  the  country ;  you  knew  him 
also,  when,  rising  by  regular  steps,  from  a  toiling  clerk  to 
an  eminent  master  of  scores  of  such  as  he  himself  had  been, 
he  walked  a  monarch  in  the  mart  of  trade,  and  his  voice 
was  potent  among  '  multitudes  of  men  commercing.'     You 
read,  that  on  such  a  day,  amidst  the  crowded  thorouo-h- 
tares  of  the  town  in  which  he  had  lived  so  lono-,  he  died. 
Perhaps  you  had  not  even  missed  him  from  the  crowded 
streets ;  yet  he  died ;  and  you  remark,  in  the  notice  of  his 
funeral,  that  '  his  remains  are  to  be  taken,  by  the  evening 

boat,  or  cars,  to for  interment.'     Ah  !  yes  ;  is 

a  small  hamlet;  for  removed  from  the  restless  din,  the 
ceaseless  turmoil,  of  the  great  city,  where  your  friend's 
gainful  and  active  life  has  been  passed ;  but  there,  there  at 
the  old  homestead,  lies  in  'cold  obstruction'  an  ao-ed 
and  honored  father ;  there  rests  the  i  mother  who  looked 
on  his  childhood,  who  smoothed  his  pillow,  and  adminis- 


46 


A    YANKEE    C  LOCK- PEDLER' s    TRICK. 


tered  to  his  helplessness  ;'  a  sister,  tenderly  beloved,  sleeps 
there;  a  fair  flower,  nipped  too  early  by  the  untimely 
frosts  of  death  ;  there  too  is  buried  a  brother,  whose  place 
was  never,  never  supplied  ;  and  there  would  he  rest ;  there, 
while  the  slow-counted  hours*of  illness  were  notching  the 
progress  of  his  earthly  decline,  he  turned  ever  his  thoughts 
of  final  repose.     He  knew  he  was  soon  going  to  renew  the 
childhood  of  his  soul  in  the  undiscovered  country  ;  and  he 
would  rise,  at  the  last  great  day,  to  the  consciousness  of  a 
new  existence,  on  the  very  spot  where  GOD  first  breathed 
into  his  earthly  body  the  breath  of  life,  and  he  became  a 
living  soul.      We    began    this,  to  introduce  an    amusing 
anecdote  of  a  child ;  but  we  could  n't  do  it. 


A  FRIEND  tells  us  a  good  story  of  a  Yankee  clock-pedler 
down  south,  which,  among  other  things,  may  perhaps  ac 
count  for  the  peculiar  favor  with  which  that  class  of  che 
valiers  are  regarded  in  that  region.  He  took  with  him,  in 
a  long  Connecticut  covered-wagon,  forty  clocks,  and  sold 
and  '  put  'em  up'  along  the  country,  in  one  direction,  war 
ranting  them  to  keep  '  fust-rate  time.'  He  exhausted  his 
supply,  with  but  a  single  exception  ;  and  then,  with  un 
paralleled  assurance,  he  turned  about  and  retraced  his 
course.  The  last  person  to  whom  he  had  sold  a  clock 
hailed  him  as  he  was  going  by  :  '  Look  o'  here,  stranger, 


AUTUMNAL    COUNTRY    INFLUENCES.     47 

that  clock  you  sold  me    ain't  worth  a  continental    cuss. 
'T  wont  go  at  all !'     '  You  don't  say  so  !     Then  you  must 
ha'  got  it,  Square !     See,  the  fact  is,  I  find  by  my  numbers 
that  there  was  one  o'  my  clocks  —  I  had  forty  on  'em  when 
I  fust  sot  out  —  that  I  am  a  leetle  afraid  on :  it  was  con 
demned   to-hum    Tore  I  come  away;    but  some  how  or 
'nother  it  got  put  into  the  wagon.     "What's  the  number  o' 
your  clock,  Square  ? '     *  Fourteen  thousand  and  one,'  re 
plied  his  victim.     l  That's  jest  the  blasted  thing ! '  exclaimed 
the  pedler.     Til  chang'  with  yeou;  yeou   take  my  last 
one,  and  I'll  take  this  hum.     The  works  is  good,  I  guess  ; 
on'y  want  fixin'  a  leetle.'     The  exchange  was  made  :  and 
all  along  the  road  the  pedler  was  similarly  arrested  by  his 
dupes,  who  were  similarly  duped  in  return.     He  took  every 
successive  bad  clock  to  his  next  customer,  and  received 
another  bad  clock  for  the  next.     And  this  was  mentioned 
and  laughed  at  as  *  Yankee  'cuteness.'     It  strikes  us  for 
cibly,   however,  that    '  swindling,'   of  the  meanest   kind, 
would  be  a  more  appropriate  designation  for  such  a  trans 
action. 


WALKING  over  the  hills  to-day,  at  the  Ferry  of  DOBB, 
that  looks  down  upon  the  broad  Tappaan  Zee,  and  the  dis 
tant  shores  of  the  lordly  Hudson,  holding  '  Youno-  KNICK.'S 
little  brown  hand  in  ours,  as  we  traversed  the  faintly-fading 
fields,  we  began  to  meditate  upon  why  it  is,  that  even  the 


48  A    HORSE- ADVENTURE. 

precursors  of  Autumn  are  so  melancholy.  The  wind  has  a 
different  sound  in  the  trees  ;  it  sighs  as  '  fall '  approaches, 
and  the  leaves  respond  but  slightly  to  its  most  fervent 
kiss  :  moreover,  there  is  a  hushed  silence  in  the  air  which 
belongs  not  to  Summer.  And  these  outward  things  beget 
an  irresistible  inward  sadness :  and  as  we  walked,  these 
lines  of  TENNYSON  came  to  mind  : 

'  TEARS,  idle  tears,  I  know  not  what  they  mean, 
Tears  from  the  depth  of  some  divine  despair, 
Rise  in  the  heart  and  gather  to  the  eyes, 
In  looking  on  the  fading  autumn  fields, 
And  thinking  of  the  days  that  are  no  more  ! ' 

There  are  no  two  sadder  words  in  the  English  language 
than  these  :  '  no  more  —  no  more  ! ' 


A  LADY-FRIEND,  not  a  thousand  miles  from  Gotham, 
relates  the  following,  which  has  struck  us,  rightly  con 
sidered,  as  possessing  an  element  of  the  pathetic  in  no  or 
dinary  degree.  An  old  horse,  that  had  served  his  master 
faithfully  for  some  twenty»five  years,  was  sold  to  a  drover 
from  one  of  the  little  Long-Island  Sound  villages  near 
New-Haven,  and  taken  to  that  pleasant  town  for  shipment 
to  the  West  Indies.  As  the  old  fellow  went  away,  in  new 
hands,  he  seemed  to  have  a  kind  of  instinctive  presentiment 
that  he  was  to  return  no  more.  He  cast  '  many  a  longing, 
lingering  look  behind,'  and  whinnied  his  apprehensions  so 


A    HORSE-ADVENTURE.  49 

affectingly,  that  his  old  owner  almost  relented,  and  but  for 
seeming  childish,  he  would  have  followed  and  revoked  the 
bargain,  a  course  which  his  children,  who  were  watching 
the  old  horse  depart,  strenuously  urged  him  to  adopt.  lie 
disappeared,  however,  with  his  new  master,  and  soon  after, 
in  company  with  a  large  drove  of  other  horses,  he  was 
placed  on  board  a  vessel,  Avhich,  one  afternoon  in  March, 
set  sail  from  Xew-Haven  for  the  West  Indies.  The  vessel 
had  hardly  reached  the  open  Sound,  at  night-fell,  before  a 
storm  -began  to  '  brew,'  which  by  nine  o'clock  became  so 
violent  that  the  safety  of  the  ship,  captain  and  crew,  was 
placed  in  imminent  jeopardy.  The  craft  labored  so  heavily 
that  it  was  found  necesary  to  throw  over  much  of  the  live 
freight,  which  greatly  encumbered  the  deck.  The  oldest 
and  least  valuable  horses  were  selected,  and  among  them 
was  our  four-legged  '  hero.'  The  stormy  waters  of  the 
Sound  received  the  poor  old  fellow  ;  but  his  'destiny'  was 
not  yet  to  be  fulfilled.  The  shore,  which  the  vessel  had 
'  hugged'  in  the  tempest,  was  only  three  miles  distant,  and 
this,  with  more  than  '  superhuman  effort,1  he  was  enabled 
to  reach.  That  very  night  his  old  master  was  awakened 
by  the  familiar  '  whinnying '  of  his  faithful  beast,  over  the 
long-accustomed  door-yard  gate ;  saying;,  like  the  old  '  ga- 
berlunzie-man '  in  the  Scottish  song, 

'  G«t  tip.  good  man,  and  let  me  in  !' 


50         A    'COMMERCIAL    TRANSACTION. 

The  familiar  sound  came  like  the  voice  of  NAT.  LEE'S 
'spirit-horse,'  as  described  by  DANA  in  '  The  Buccaniers,'  to 
that  remorseful  master.  He  did  '  get  up,'  and  led  the 
old  steed  into  his  wonted  stall,  which  he  thereafter  occupied 
undisturbed  until  his  death.  With  an  unerring  instinct, 
that  animal  had  travelled  twenty-two  miles,  after  reaching 
the  shore,  before  he  arrived  at  the  door  of  his  old  master. 
'  I  shall  never  sell  another  old  horse,'  said  the  original  nar 
rator  of  this  story  to  our  friend,  '  the  longest  day  I  live  !' 


IT  will  be  some  time,  if  not  longer,  before  we  shall 
awaken  the  echoes  of  our  quiet  sanctum  with  a  laugh  so 
irrepressible  as  a  guffaw  which  has  just  escaped  us,  at  a 
mercantile  anecdote  inimitably  related  by  a  German  friend. 
An   old   fellow  living  at  Frankfort-on-the-Main,  sent  to  a 
business-correspondent    at  Frankfort-on-the-Oder,   a  large 
consignment  of  cotton  stockings,  and  at  the  same  time,  to 
another  correspondent  in  the  same  place,  an  equally  large 
consignment  of  cotton  night-caps,  the  product  of  his  own 
manufactory.     He  wrote  to  each  the  price  at  which  they 
were  to  sell,  but  the  sum  designated  was  found  to  be  too 
large,  of  which  fact  they  took  occasion  to  inform  him.     He 
yielded  a  little  in  his  demand,  but  still  there  were  no  offers 
for  his  fabrics.     Again  he  writes,  in  reply  to  other  letters 
of  his   correspondents,  naming  a  yet  smaller  amount ;  but 


A    COMMERCIAL    TRANSACTION.         51 

weeks  elapse,  and  still  no  sale.  At  length  lie  writes  to 
each  correspondent  to  make  some  disposition  of  his  manu 
factures  ;  if  they  can't  get  money  for  them,  at  least  to  ex 
change  them,  no  matter  at  what  reasonable  sacrifice,  for 
any  other  goods.  Under  these  instructions,  the  stocking- 
factor  calls  upon  the  night-cap  agent,  both  unknown  to 
each  other  in  connection  with  their  principal,  and  '  names 
his  views  ;'  he  wishes  to  exchange  a  lot  of  superior  cotton 
stockings  for  some  other  goods ;  he  is  not  particular  what 
kind,  as  the  transaction  is  for  a  friend,  who  is  desirous  of 
1  closing  his  stock.'  The  man  at  first  can  think  of  nothing 
which  he  would  like  to  exchange  for  so  large  a  supply  of 
stockings ;  but  at  length  a  bright  thought  strikes  him. 
4  I  have,'  said  he,  *  a  consignment  of  cotton  night-caps 
from  an  old  correspondent,  which  I  shall  not  object  to  ex 
change  for  your  stockings.'  The  bargain  was  soon  closed. 
The  stocking-factor  wrote  back  at  once  that  he  had  at 
length  been  enabled  to  comply  with  the  instructions  of  his 
principal.  He  had  exchanged  his  stockings  for  '  a  supe 
rior  article  of  night-cap,'  in  an  equal  quantity,  which  he 
was  assured  were  likely  to  be  much  in  demand  before  a 
great  while  ! 

The  next  day  came  a  letter  from  the  night-cap  agent, 
announcing  his  success,  and  appended  to  the  letter  was 
a  big  bill  for  commissions  !  As  YELLOWPLUSH  would  say, 
'Fanzv  that  Cent's  feelinks  ! ' 


52  MEDICAL    NOMENCLATURE. 

WE  suggested,  not  long  since,  that  a  simplification  of 
the  nomenclature  of  the  law  would  not  be  amiss;  and  we 
ventured  to  offer  a  few  arguments  in  support  of  that  posi 
tion.  We  are  quite  of  the  opinion  that  a  similar  simplifi 
cation  of  Medical  Nomenclature  would  prove  of  service 
to  the  masses.  We  have  sometimes  seen  the  necessity  of 
this  very  ludicrously  illustrated.  Very  much  confounded 
was  our  friend  Doctor  DOANE,  a  few  years  since,  by  a  re 
mark  of  one  of  his  patients.  The  day  previous,  the  Doctor 
had  prescribed  that  safe  and  palatable  remedy,  the  '  syrup 
of  birch-thorn,'  and  had  left  his  prescription  duly  written 
in  the  usual  cabalistic  characters  :  '  Syr.  Rham.  Cath? 
On  enquiring  if  the  patient  had  taken  the  medicine,  a 
thunder-cloud  darkened  her  face  ;  lightning  flashed  from 
her  eyes  ;  and  she  roared  out :  '  No  !  I  can  read  your 
doctor-writing — and  I  aint  a-goin  to  take  the  Syrup  of 
Ram-Cats  for  any  body  under  GOD'S  heaven  ! '  'Hence 
we  view  the  great  necessity  there  is'  of  a  material  change 
in  oui'  medical  nomenclature. 


UUJIBER    TWO. 

AN  DJDEPENDENT  STAGE-COACH  DEFTER  I  THE  BETOET  CONCLUSIVE :  THE  SEA 
AND  ITS  INFLUENCES  .'  THE  DELUDED  DOG  AND  REFRACTORY  LOBSTEK  : 
DEATH  OF  THE  FIRST-BORN  —  AX  AFFECTING  INCIDENT  I  A  DRY  PUMP  : 
EXPERIMENT  UPON  THE  MUSICAL  ORGANS  OF  A  JACK-ASS  I  THE  'CLOUDLESS 
SKIES  '  OF  PARADISE  I  A  KAIL-ROAD  '  RECUSSANT  :'  A  LITTLE  EVENING-SCENE 
IN  THE  SANCTUM  :  HUMORS  OF  AN  ELECTION  —  THE  CHALLENGED  '  FRIEND  f 
THE  TRUE  HERO  —  AN  AUTHENTIC  ANECDOTE:  NATURAL  HISTORY  —  THE 

FLAMINGO:   PUZZLING  QUESTIONS  ix  'LOGIC:'  REMINISCENCES  IN  THE  LIT 
TLE   CHURCH  AT  LAKE-GEORGE. 

MAXY  readers  will  remember  Mi's.  KIRKLAND'S  story 
in  her  ' New  Home]  of  the  Michigan  stage-driver, 
who  '  drew  rein'  in  a  violent  autumn-storm  at  the  gate  of 
one  of  the  far-scattered  cabins  of  a  western  forest,  into  which 
he  ran,  leaving  his  passengers,  a  burly  Englishman  and 
two  querulous,  '  stuck-up'  daughters,  to  follow  him,  as 
best  they  might.  The  doughty  JOHN  BULL  came  in  after 
him,  leading  his  daughters,  with  rueful  faces  and  sadly  be 
draggled  skirts,  all  three  looking  grouty  and  srkmi  enough. 
'  I  say,'  said  the  Englishman  to  the  driver,  who  had  en 
sconced  himself  in  a  warm  and  cozy  seat  by  the  fire,  '  I 
say,  that  luggage  ought  to  be  brought  in,  ye  knoV  '  Wai, 
/  should  think  so,  tew.  If  't  was  mine,  /  should  bring  it 
in,  any  how.  'T  may  get  sp'ilet.'  'Well,  fellow,  why 


54  AN    INDEPENDENT    DRIVER. 

dorit  you  bring  it  in  ? '  '  Why  don't  I  bring  it  in  ? '  said 
the  other,  slowly  and  with  an  unmistakable  sneer  ;  '  why, 
I  aint  your  servant,  be  I  ?  Guess  not :  that's  a  berry  that 
don't  grow  on  the  bushes  about  these  diggin's.  I  drive 
you,  Square,  and  I  don't  do  nothin'  else  ! '  This  incident 
came  to  mind  a  few  moments  ago,  on  hearing  a  friend 
relate  the  following  anecdote.  He  said,  that  soon  after  the 
revolutionary  war,  a  brave  Yankee  officer,  a  former  captain 
in  the  service,  happened  to  be  at  St.  Petersburg,  in  Russia, 
and  while  there  was  invited  to  dine  at  the  table  of  a  dis 
tinguished  merchant.  There  was  a  large  number  of  guests 
at  the  table,  and  among  the  rest  an  English  lady,  who  was 
anxious  to  appear  as  one  of  the  '  knowing  ones. '  On 
understanding  that  an  American  was  sitting  near  her,  she 
expressed  to  one  of  her  friends  a  determination  to  quiz  him. 
She  fastened  upon  him  like  a  tigress,  making  numerous 
inquiries  touching  our  habits,  customs,  dress,  manners, 
modes  of  life,  education,  amusements,  etc.  To  all  these 
queries  the  officer  gave  courteous  answers,  which  seemed 
to  satisfy  all  the  company  with  the  exception  of  the  lady 
herself.  She  was  determined  not  to  be  satisfied,  and  went 
on :  '  Have  the  rich  people  in  your  country  any  carriages  ? 
—  for  I  suppose  there  are  some  who  call  themselves  rich.' 
4  My  residence,'  replied  the  captain,  '  is  in  a  small  town 
upon  an  island,  where  there  are  but  few  carriages  kept ; 
but  in  the  larger  towns  and  cities  on  the  main  land  there 


THE    SEA  AND    us    INFLUENCES.         55 

are  quite  a  number  maintained,  suited  to  our  republican 
manners.'  '  Indeed  ?  ! '  replied  his  fair  questioner,  in  a 
tone  that  was  both  interrogative  and  exclamatory  :  '  I  can't 
fancy  where  you  find  coachmen  :  I  should  n't  think  the 
Americans  knew  how  to  drive  a  coach.'  *  We  find  no  dif 
ficulty  on  that  account,  Madam,'  calmly  rejoined  the  cap 
tain  ;  '  we  can  have  plenty  of  drivers  by  sending  to  England 
for  them.'  '  To  England  I '  exclaimed  the  lady,  speaking 
very  quickly  ;  '  I  think  the  Americans  ought  to  drive  the 
English,  instead  of  the  English  driving  the  Americans.' 
*  We  did,  Madam,  in  the  late  war,'  rejoined  the  officer ; 
'  but  since  the  peace,  we  have  permitted  the  English  to 
drive  us  ! '  There  was  no  more  *  quizzing '  of  our  American 
during  the  dinner.  He  waited  in  vain,  like  SAM  WELLER 
in  '  BARBELL  vs.  PICKWICK,'  for  the  next  question. 


'  THE  sea  is  His,  and  HE  made  it  ! '  Xow  there  is 
conveyed  in  this  sentence,  to  our  poor  conception  at  least, 
a  kind  of  mysterious  sublimity ;  and  we  never  stand  by 
the  solemn  shore  of  the  great  ocean,  without  hearing  in 
every  wave  that,  as  it  rolls  pouring  onward  and  expanding 
side- wise,  breaks  at  the  ends  of  its  emerald  cylinder  into  a 
musical  foam,  without  taking  up  the  burthen  of  that  per 
vading  Voice,  and  exclaiming,  '  The  sea  is  His,  and  He 
made  it !  '  And  it  is  pleasurable  to  think  that  this  impres- 


56        THE    SEA    AND    ITS    INFLUENCES. 

sion,  if  not  general,  is  at  least  not  uncommon.  We  have 
remarked,  with  unwonted  sympathy,  in  DICKENS'S  last 
story,  how  the  waves,  '  hoarse  with  the  repetition  of  their 
mystery,'  affect  his  heroine,  as  they  roll  the  dank  sea-weed 
at  her  feet,  while  she  stands  by  the  resounding  shore. 
Even  thus,  too,  had  they  awakened  a  vague  yet  sublime 
sense  of  the  '  Infinite  and  the  Eternal'  in  the  minds  of 
FLORENCE  and  her  '  little  brother,  gone  home  to  GOD.' 
What  thoughts  of  the  departed,  what  spirits  of  the  Past, 
what  dim  foreshadowings  of  the  Future,  are  evoked  by  the 
sight  of  the  illimitable  ocean,  and  the  '  voice  of  all  his 
waves  ! '  TENNYSON,  in  a  few  brief  lines,  which  we  have 
repeated  alone  on  the  sea-shore,  we  know  not  how  often, 
touches  this  chord,  whose  vibrations  are  so  melodious  to 
the  soul  : 

'  BREAK,  break,  break, 

On  thy  cold  gray  stones,  0  Sea  ! 
And  I  would  that  my  tongue  could  utter 
The  thoughts  that  arise  in  me. 

4  0  well  for  the  fisherman's  boy, 

That  he  shouts  with  his  sister  at  play  ! 
O  well  for  the  sailor  lad, 
That  he  sings  in  his  boat  on  the  bay  ! 

'  And  the  stately  ships  go  on 

To  their  haven  under  the  hill : 
But  O  for  the  touch  of  a  vanished  hand, 
And  the  sound  of  a  voice  that  is  still ! 


THE    DOG    AND    THE    LOBSTER.  57 

'  Break,  break,  break, 

At  the  foot  of  thy  crags,  O  Sea  ! 
But  the  tender  grace  of  a  day  that  is  dead 
Will  never  come  back  to  me.' 


THERE  was  much  surrounding  cachination  where  this 
circumstance  was  mentioned  the  other  evening :  A  man 
who  was  *  somedele '  fond  of  lobsters,  was  wistfully  regard 
ing  a  basket  of  them  in  the  market,  with  his  dog  by  his 
side,  while  another  by-stander  was  sticking  the  end  of  his 
cane  into  one  of  the  disengaged  claws  of  a  big  fellow  at 
the  top.  '  How  he  does  hold  on  !  •  said  the  man  with  the 
cane.  '  Yes,'  responded  the  man  with  the  dog,  '  but  it  's 
because  he  'dents  the  cane,  and  his  claws  won't  slip  on  the 
wood.  But  he  could  n't  hold  on  to  a  critter,  or  you  or 
I,  in  that  way.  When  he  feels  any  thing  giving  a  lobster 
always  stops  pinchinV  '  Guess  not?  said  the  owner  of  the 
basket :  '  you  put  your  dog's  tail  in  that  there  claw,  and 
you  '11  see  whether  he  '11  hold  on  to  't  or  not.'  No  sooner 
said  than  done  :  the  lobster-lover  lifted  up  his  dog,  dropped 
his  tail  into  the  open  claw,  which  closed  instanter,  and  the 
dog,  'as  srait  by  sudden  pain,'  ran  off  howling,  at  the  top 
of  his  speed.  '  Hello  !  '  exclaimed  the  owner,  '  whistle 
back  your  dog:  d  —  n  him!  he  's  runnin'  off  with  the 
lobster  ! '  <  Whistle  back  your  lobster  ! '  rejoined  the  other  ; 
1  that  dog  aint  coming  back  ;  that  dog  's  in  pain.  I  can't 


58  DEATH    OF    THE    FIRST-BORN. 

git  him  to  come  near  me  when  he  's  in  pain.'  That  hu 
mane  citizen  dined  that  day  upon  as  fine  a  lobster  as  there 
was  in  that  basket,  '  any  how  ! ' 


THERE  is  an  affecting  passage  in  one  of  the  letters  of 
Mrs.  GRANT  of  Laggan,  recently  published,  describing  the 
death  of  Mrs.  BRUNTON,  author  of  '  Self- Control,'  '  Disci 
pline,'  etc.  Being  for  a  long  time  without  offspring,  she 
signalized  herself  by  her  tender  care  of  the  forlorn  and 
helpless  children  of  others.  At  length,  after  being  nineteen 
years  married,  her  only  earthly  wish  seemed  about  to  be 
granted.  l  Why,'  says  Mrs.  GRANT,  '  should  I  tell  you  of 
our  hopes  and  joys  on  this  occasion  ?  After  three  days  of 
great  suffering,  she  gave  birth  to  a  still-born  child.  She  in 
sisted  on  seeing  it,  held  its  little  hand,  and  said,  *  The  feel 
ing  this  hand  has  caused  to  my  heart  will  never  leave  it.' 
Shortly  after  a  relative  came  in,  and  spoke  tenderly  of  her 
loss.  '  There  was  nothing  so  dear  to  me  as  my  child,'  she 
replied,  '  and  I  make  my  SAVIOUR  welcome  to  it.'  She 
1  sorrowed  most  of  all,'  as  she  lay  on  her  death-bed,  for  her 
bereaved  husband  ;  thinking  sadly  with  the  tender  English 
poet  : 

'  HALF  could  I  bear,  methinks,  to  leave  this  earth, 
And  thee,  more  loved  than  aught  beneath  the  sun, 
If  1  had  lived  to  smile  but  on  the  life 
Of  one  dear  pledge  ;  and  shall  there  then  be  none 
In  future  times,  no  gentle  little  one, 
To  clasp  thy  neck,  and  look  resembling  me  ?' ' 


A    DRY    PUMP.  59 

THE  *  Lay  of  the  Pump]  in  all  its  thoughts  is  a  rank 
plagiarism  from  HAWTHORNE'S  admirable  '  Rill  from  the 
Town-Pump.'  The  author  may  really  be,  for  aught  we 
know,  what  he  claims  to  be,  a  '  Temperance  Man  ;'  but  he 
is  a  thief,  notwithstanding.  By  the  by,  speaking  of  pumps, 
there  is  a  very  mysterious  contrivance  of  this  sort  in  the 
village  of  Cherry  -Valley.  When  the  good  citizens  are 
pumping  it,  it  utters  a  sort  of  subdued  screech,  that  seems 
to  be  a  cross  between  the  guttural  caterwaul  of  an  enraged 
grimalkin  and  the  opening  bray  of  a  donkey.  We  heard 
it  three  or  four  times  with  increasing  amazement  ;  and  at 
length  ventured  to  ask  of  a  by-stander,  who  was  watching 
the  Richfield  cohorts  winding  their  way  down  '  White's 
Hill '  into  the  village,  '  In  the  name  of  Discord,  friend,  is 
that  a  pump  or  a  jack-ass  I '  '  It  's  a  pump,  I  guess  ; 
though  it  doos  sound  something  like  a  jack,  that  's  sartin.' 
Our  informant  was  a  singular-looking  genius.  He  had  a 
jolly,  twinkling  eye,  a  broad-brimmed,  low-crowned  old 
hat,  a  nose  that  turned  under  instead  of  up,  and  a  face 
that  laughed  in  every  line  of  its  surface.  He  wore,  more 
over,  what  we  had  often  heard  of,  but  had  never  seen  be 
fore,  a  pair  of  leather-rimmed  spectacles,  with  round  blue- 
green  glasses,  as  if  cut  from  a  coarse  window-pane.  '  We 
had  a  curious  jack,'  he  continued,  '  down  in  our  town.  He 
belonged  to  a  terrible  obstinate  man,  who  kept  him  in  a  lot 
back  o'  the  meetin'-house.  Every  Sunday,  when  the  hosses 


60          EXPERIMENT    ON    A    JACK-ASS. 

was  druv  under  the  shed  along  the  back-eend  o'  the  meetinr- 
house,  that  tarnal  jack  would  begin  to  bray,  and  keep  it  up 
all  sermon-time.  In  summer,  when  the  windows  was  open, 
you  could  n't  hear  nothin'  else,  scasely.  The  man  that  owned 
him  hated  the  minister  as  he  did  pizen,  and  he  would  n't 
put  the  blasted  critter  into  any  other  lot,  out  o'  clear  spite. 
But  the  folks  could  n't  stand  it ;  and  one  day  one  of  the 
deacon's  sons  catched  the  jack,  and  putting  a  knife  up  his 
nose,  cut  out  a  piece  of  the  dividing -grissle,  about  the  size 
of  a  dollar,  so  's  to  prevent  his  braying  any  more  ;  and  he 
did  "'nt  make  a  great  deal  o'  noise  while  't  was  gettin'  well ; 
but  when  it  healed,  and  he  tried  to  play  a  bray  on  it,  it 
made  the  awfullest  noise  you  ever  heer'd  !  It  was  a  dif 
ferent  instrument  altogether.  At  first  goin'-off  it  was  a 
terrible  bray,  but  it  come  out  at  the  eend  with  the  shrillest 
whistle  you  ever  see ;  sharper  than  a  fife,  and  as  loud  as 
the  scare-pipe  of  a  locomotive  ingine.  It  was  tew  much  ; 
folks  could  n't  bear  it ;  and  a  good  many  of  the  congrega 
tion  j'ined  together,  and  went  to  buy  the  plaguy  nuisance 
off.  The  owner  laafed  when  they  called  on  him  and  told 
their  business ;  but  they  gi'n  him  his  price,  and  put  the 
noisy  critter  out  o'  the  pale  of  the  church  ! ' 


WE  remember  crossing  to  Hoboken  one  mellow  autumn 
evening  with  an  esteemed   friend,  one  among  the  most 


'CLOUDLESS    SKIES.'  61 

vigorous  and  popular  of  our  American  poets.  There  was 
such  a  pomp  of  golden  and  many-colored  clouds  in  the 
track  of  the  setting-sun  as  we  had  never  seen  before. 
*  Oh  ! '  exclaimed  our  companion,  l  what  a  beautiful  world 
this  is  !  They  tell  us  of  the  balmy  airs  and  the  '  cloudless 
skies'  of  Paradise  :  then,'  he  added,  pointing  to  the  infi 
nitely  beautiful  and  glowing  west,  '  then  they  have  not 
that  there  :  and  what  can  a  scene  be  worth  that  has  not 
clouds  ?  How  can  we  truly  appreciate  the  light  of  the 
blessed  sun  without  them  ?  And  how  gloriously  they 
illustrate  the  brightness  of  his  beams ! '  It  has  always 
seemed  to  us  that  heaven  should  seldom  be  compared,  in 
its  '  physical  features,'  if  we  may  so  speak,  with  the  earth  ; 
but  rather  depicted  as  a  place  where  the  redeemed  soul,  in 
a  new  sphere  of  righteousness  and  love,  shall  *  look  for  the 
restoration  of  the  old  ruined  earth  and  heaven,  from  which 
beauty  and  life  shall  have  departed,  and  from  which 
planets  and  stars  have  vanished  away.'  And  this,  when 
the  fires  of  the  resurrection  morning  shall  redden  the  last 
day,  this  shall  be  witnessed.  '  These  eyes,'  says  a  rapt 
master  of  sacred  song  : 

'  THESE  eyes  shall  see  them  fall, 

Mountains  and  stars  and  skies  ; 
These  eves  shall  see  them  all 

Oat  of  their  ashes  rise  : 
These  lips  shall  then  His  praise  rehearse 

Whose  nod  restores  the  universe  1 ' 


62  A    RAIL-ROAD    'RECUSSANT 


A  FRIEND  of  ours,  sojourning  during  the  past  summer 
in  one  of  the  far-off  'shore-towns'  of  Massachusetts  Bay, 
was  not  a  little  amused  one  day  at  the  querulous  com 
plainings  of  one  of  the  'oldest  inhabitants'  against  rail 
roads  5  his  experience  in  which  consisted  in  having  seen 
the  end  of  one  laid  out,  and  at  le'ngth  the  cars  running 
upon  it.  Taking  out  his  old  pipe,  on  a  pleasant  summer 
afternoon,  and  looking  off  upon  the  ocean,  and  the  ships 
far  off  and  out  at  sea  with  the  sun  upon  their  sails,  he  said : 
'/  don't  think  much  o'  rail-roads:  they  aint  no  kind  o' 
justice  into  'em.  Neow  what  kind  o'  justice  is  it,  when 
rail-roads  takes  one  man's  upland  and  carts  it  over  in 
wheel-barrers  onto  another  man's  mdsh  ?  What  kind  o' 
'commodation  be  they  ?  You  can't  go  when  you  want  to 
go  ;  you  got  to  go  when  the  bell  rings,' or  the  blasted 
noisy  whistle  blows.  I  tell  yeow  it 's  payin'  tew  much  for 
the  whistle.  Ef  you  live  a  leetle  ways  off  the  dee-pot,  you 
got  to  pay  to  git  to  the  rail-road  ;  and  ef  you  want  to  go 
any  wheres  else  'cept  just  to  the  eend  on  it,  you  got  to 
pay  to  go  a'ter  you  git  there.  What  kind  o'  'commodation 
is  that  ?  Goin'  round  the  country  tew,  murderin'  folks, 
runnin'  over  cattle,  sheep,  and  hogs,  and  settin'  fire  to 
bridges,  and  every  now  and  then  burnin'  up  the  woods. 
Mrs.  ROBBINS,  down  to  Cod-p'int,  says,  and  she  ought  to 
know,  for  she  's  a  pious  woman,  and  belongs  to  the  lower 


EVENING    SCENE    IN    THE    SANCTUM.     63 

church,  she  said  to  me,  no  longer  ago  than  day-'fore  yester 
day,  that  she'd  be  cuss'd  if  she  did  n't  know  that  they 
sometimes  run  over  critters  a-purpose  —  they  did  a  likely 
shoat  o'  her'n,  and  never  paid  for  't,  'cause  they  was  a  *  cor 
poration  '  they  said.  What  kind  o'  'commodation  is  that  ? 
Besides :  now  I've  lived  here,  clus  to  the  dee-pot,  ever 
sence  the  road  started  to  run,  and  seen  'em  go  out  and 
come  in  ;  but  /never  could  see  that  they  went  so  d  —  d 
fast,  nuther  !  '  Now  here,  it  strikes  us,  is  an  individual 
example  of  the  feeling  which  constituted  the  combined 
sentiment  that  has  consigned  the  Michigan  rail-road  con 
spirators  to  a  long  and  gloomy  imprisonment. 


A  DEAR  little  bright-eyed  girl,  of  some  five  years,  who 
has  been  lying  upon  the  fur-rug  before  the  sanctum  fire, 
suddenly  pauses  in  her  disjointed,  innocent  chat ;  says 
*  Little  BLINKEY  has  come  to  town,'  and  that  her  eyes  are 
heavy  ;  creeps  up  to  the  paternal  knee,  and  half  asleep, 
repeats,  very  touchingly  to  us,  we  must  say,  and  certainly 
in  the  most  musical  of  all  '  still  small  voices,'  these  lines, 
which  a  loving  elder  sister  has  taught  her  : 

'  JESUS,  tender  Shepherd,  hear  me, 
Bless  THY  little  lamb  to-night ; 
Through  the  darkness  be  THOU  near  me, 
Watch  my  sleep  till  morning  light 


64  HUMORS    OF    AN    ELECTION. 

'  All  this  day  THY  hand  hath  led  me, 
And  I  thank  THEE  for  Tire  care  ; 
THOU  hast  clothed  me,  warmed  and  fed  me  — 
Listen  to  my  evening  prayer. ' 

The  prayer  itself  dies  upon  her  lips,  in  almost  indis 
tinct,  sleepy  murmurs ;  only,  when  KITTY,  who  has  come 
for  her,  is  taking  her  away  to  the  nursery,  she  says,  half 
awakened : 

.    .    .    '  take  me,  when  I  die,  to  Heaven, 
Happy  there  with  THEE  to  dwell ! ' 

Since  little  JOSE  went  up  stairs,  we  've  been  thinking 
of  this,  and  because  it  interested  us,  we  thought  we  would 
iot  it  down. 


THERE  are  certain  '  Humors  of  an  Election '  that  are 
worth  watching  by  a  lover  of  the  burlesque.  '  I  chal 
lenge  that  man's  vote  ! '  said  a  fellow  with  '  building  ma 
terials  in  his  hat,'  at  an  up-town  poll  last  month.  The 
person  challenged  lived  in  a  princely  mansion  in  the 
middle  of  an  entire  square,  which  contained  the  original 
soil  and  the  original  trees  of  Manhattan  Island.  '  Look  o' 
here  '  said  the  challenger,  '  what  street  do  you  live  in  ?  — 
what's  the  number  of  your  house  ?  —  on  which  side  of  the 
street  is  it  ? '  *  There  is  no  number  on  my  house,  and  it  is 
on  neither  side  of  the  street.'  '  I  thought  so  !  Do  n't 
know  which  side  o'  the  street  you  live,  and  hain't  got  no 


THE    CHALLENGED    'FRIEND.'  65 

number  onto  your  door  !  You  can  go  home  to  your  house, 
if  you  can  find  it ;  you  can't  vote  the  Tig-whicket,  nor  no 
other  ticket  at  this  poll  ! '  The  challenger  was  walked  out 
by  the  officers  in  attendance,  and  the  last  we  saw  of  him, 
he  was  looking  up  under  the  hat  of  a  friend,  his  body  at  a 
reeling  angle  forward,  and  trying  to  persuade  him  to  go  to 
a  drinking-shop  near  by,  and  get  a  '  scottle  of  Botch  ale  ! ' 
Speaking  of  challenging  votes,  a  friend  has  just  mentioned 
to  us  a  clever  anecdote  of  a  trick  served  upon  a  challenger 
by  an  English  Quaker,  several  years  ago,  before  the  city 
was  divided  into  numerous  election  districts.  *  I  challenge 
that  man's  vote  :  he  is  not  a  naturalized  citizen,'  said  a 
rough-spoken  individual  to  the  quiet  Friend  in  question. 
'  Thee  must  know  that  I  am,  I  think.'  '  If  you  are  a  citizen, 
where  's  your  papers  ?  We  want  your  papers?  interposed 
the  challenger.  '  They  are  at  my  residence.'  '  Well, 
you  '11  have  to  bring  'em  'fore  you  can  vote  here.'  The 
old  gentleman  went  home  for  his  papers,  but  when  he 
returned,  the  polls  were  closed.  The  next  year  party  spirit 
ran  very  high,  and  the  elections  were  bitterly  contested  ; 
and  again  the  English  Friend  was  challenged  as  before,  by 
the  same  person,  and  for  the  same  alleged  cause.  '  Xow 
thee  does  rUt  want  me  to  go  back  this  year  to  my  house 
for  my  papers,  does  thee  ?  Thee  knows  I  came  only  a 
little  too  late  with  my  papers  last  year.  Does  thee  require 
me  to  bring  them  again  V  'To  be  sure  I  do,'  replied  the 


66  THE    TRUE    HERO. 

challenger :  '  you  can  't  vote  till  you  show  your  papers.' 
'Well,'  said  the  Quaker,  with  a  faint  smile  on  his  face,  'I 
thought  that  perhaps  thee  might  insist  upon  seeing  them, 
and  so  I  brought  them  with  me  this  time  ! '  They  were 
'  all  correct,'  his  vote  was  deposited,  and  as  he  turned 
round  to  go  out,  he  said  to  the  discomfited  challenger, 
'  Farewell,  friend  :  thee  had  better  luck  last  year  ! ' 


'  THERE  is  an  endearing  tenderness,'  says  WASHINGTON 
IRVING,  '  in  the  love  of  a  mother  for  her  son,  that  tran 
scends  all  other  affections  of  the  heart.'  We  have  just 
heard  a  touching  illustration  of  the  fact,  that  the  love  of  a 
son  for  his  mother  may  also  transcend  and  swallow  up  all 
other  affections,  at  a  moment,  too,  when  he  might  well  be 
pardoned  for  remembering  only  his  own  great  trials. 
Some  two  years  ago,  a  young  man,  belonging  to  Phila 
delphia,  was  returning  by  rail-road  to  that  city  from  the 
town  of  Reading,  Pennsylvania.  By  an  accident  which 
happened  to  the  train  as  it  was  approaching  town,  and 
while  he  was  standing  upon  the  platform,  he  was  thrown 
off,  and  fell  partly  under  the  wheels  of  the  succeeding  car  ; 
and  his  right  arm,  '  marrow,  bones,  and  all,'  was  crushed 
to  a  jelly,  and  dropped  uselessly  at  his  side.  This,  how 
ever,  was  fortunately  his  only  injury.  He  was  a  young 
man  of  determined  nerve,  and  of  the  noblest  spirit.  He 


AN  AUTHENTIC  ANECDOTE.      67 

uttered  no  complaint  —  not  even  a  groan.  When  the 
train  arrived  at  the  depot,  a  carriage  was  immediately 
called,  when,  attended  by  his  friend,  he  said  to  the  coach 
man,  'Drive  at  once  to  Dr.  M 's,  in  Walnut-street.' 

'  Had  n't  you  better  go  immediately  home  \ '  asked  his 
friend.  '  No,'  said  he,  '  I  don't  want  them  to  know  any 
thing  about  me  until  it  is  all  over.'  '  Our  hero,'  for  he 
was  a  hero,  was  deaf  to  all  the  counter-remonstrances  of 
his  friend,  and  they  drove  rapidly  to  the  house  of  the  emi 
nent  surgeon  alluded  to.  They  were  shown  into  the 
parlor,  and  the  doctor  was  summoned.  After  an  examina 
tion,  *  Well,  my  dear  fellow,'  said  the  surgeon,  for  he  was 
well  acquainted  with  his  patient,  '  you  know,  I  suppose, 
what  must  be  done  ? '  'I  do,'  he  replied,  *  and  it  is  for 
the  purpose  of  having  it  done  that  I  am  here.'  '  My  sur 
gical-table,'  said  the  doctor,  'is  below.'  'Can  it  not  be 
done  without  that  } '  asked  the  sufferer.  '  I  cannot  be 
tied  —  I  cannot  be  held.  Amputate  my  arm  here,  doctor,' 
he  continued,  holding  out  his  dangling  limb  over  the  back 
of  the  sofa.  '  Do  it  here,  Doctor,  I  shall  not  flinch  ;  I 
shall  not  interfere  with  your  operations.'  The  limb  was 
bared ;  two  attendants,  medical  students  in  the  house, 
were  summoned  ;  the  arm  was  taken  off  above  the  elbow, 
while  the  patient  sat  as  he  had  requested,  uttering  no 
groan,  nor  speaking  a  single  word,  while  the  operation  was 
being  performed.  The  dressings  were  applied  ;  and,  at- 


68  NATURAL    HISTORY. 

tended  by  his  friend,  the  patient  had  reached  the  door  on 
his  way  to  his  own  house,  which  was  very  near  by,  when 
he  turned  round  to  the  surgeon,  and  said  :  '  Doctor,  I 
should  like  to  look  at  my  arm  once  more  :  pray  let  me  see 
it.'  The  surgeon  raised  the  mangled  limb  :  the  patient 
glanced  at  the  bloodless  hand,  and  said,  '  Doctor,  there  is 
a  ring  upon  the  middle  finger  of  that  hand ;  won't  you 
take  it  off  for  me  ?  My  MOTHER  gave  me  that  ring  when 
she  was  on  her  death-bed.  I  can  part  with  my  arm,  but 
while  I  live,  I  can't  part  with  that  ring  3 '  The  ring  was 
slipped  from  the  cold,  white  finger  :  '  Put  it  on  that  fin 
ger,'  said  he,  holding  out  the  same  finger  of  his  left  hand. 
As  he  was  leaving  the  door,  with  his  attendant,  to  enter 
the  carriage,  he  said,  l  How  shall  I  break  this  thing  to  my 
poor  sister  ? '  Is  not  this  a  true  '  hero,'  reader  ? 


'  DID  you  ever  see  a  wild-goose  a-sailing  on  the  ocean  ? ' 
That  is  '  a  sight,'  no  doubt ;  but  it  strikes  us  that  the  am 
phibious  stalking  Flamingos  around  the  fountain  at  the 
Bowling-Green  are  objects  even  more  to  be  admired.  No 
thing  can  exceed  their  singularly  grotesque  appearance.  A 
Transcendental  correspondent  of  ours,  who  had  just  been 
reading  a  '  chorus  of  spirits '  in  a  new  German  play,  im 
provised  the  following  lines  the  other  day,  while  looking 
through  the  rusty  iron  pickets  at  that  bit  of  *  chaste  prac- 


T  II  E      F  L  A  M  I  X  G  O  .  69 

tice '  in  fountain-architecture,  the  pile  of  rocks  that  rises  in 
'  ragged  majesty  '  within  the  pales  : 

XATURAL   HISTORY:     THE    FLAUIXGO.       » 


;  OH  !  tell  me  have  you  ever  seen  a  long  leg'd  Flamingo  ? 
Oh !  tell  me  have  you  ever  seen  in  the  water  him  go?' 

SECOND     TOICZ. 

'Oh!  yes,  at  Bowling-Green  I've  seen  a  long-leg'd  Flamingo, 
Oh !  yes,  at  Bowling-Green  I've  seen  in  the  water  him  go.' 

FT3ST    TOICS. 

'  Oh !  tell  me  did  yon  ever  see  a  bird  so  funny  stand-o, 
When  forth  he  from  the  water  comes  and  gets  upon  the  land-o  ?' 


'No!  In  my  life  I  ne'er  did  see  a  bird  so  fnnny  stand-o. 
When  forth  he  from  the  water  comes  and  gets  upon  the  land-o.' 


'He  has  a  leg  some  three  feet  long,  or  near  it,  so  they  say.  Sir, 
Stiff  upon  one  alone  he  stands,  t'other  he  stows  away,  sir.' 


ZCOND    VOICS. 


'And  what  an  ugly  head  he's  got  !  I  wonder  that  he'd  wear  it, 
But  rather  more  I  wonder  that  his  long  slim  neck  can  bear  it' 


'  And  think,  thfc  length  of  neck  and  legs,  (no  doubt  they  have  their  uses,) 
Are  members  of  a  little  frame,  much  smaller  than  a  goose's!' 


'  Oh  !  is  n't  he  a  curious  bird,  that  red  long-leg'd  Flamingo  ? 
A  water  bird,  a  gawky  bird,  a  singular  bird,  by  Jingo  ! ' 


70      PUZZLING    QUESTIONS    IN    '  LOGIC.' 

MOST  likely  many  of  our  readers  will  remember  this 
4  vexed  question '  in  logic  :  '  It  either  rains  or  it  does  not 
rain  :  but  it  does  not  rain  ;  therefore  it  rains.'  This  used 
to  puzzle  us  hugely ;  as  did  also  the  mathematical  pro 
blem,  in  simple  equations,  which  ensues  :  'A  cat  has  one 
more  tail  than  no  cat ;  no  cat  has  two  tails ;  ergo,  a  cat 
has  three  tails  f  The  conclusion  is  irresistible.  Here  is 
something,  however,  which  is  cf  deeper  import:  'JOHN 
SON  studied  law  with  DOBSON,  under  the  agreement  that 
he  should  pay  DOBSON,  when  he  (JOHNSON)  gained  his 
first  cause.  After  a  time  DOBSON  got  tired  of  waiting  for 
the  conditions  of  the  contract,  and  sued  JOHNSON  for  his 
pay.  He  reasoned  thus  :  '  If  I  sue  him  I  shall  get  paid 
at  any  rate,  because  if  I  gain  the  cause,  I  shall  be  paid 
by  the  decision  of  the  court ;  if  I  lose  it,  I  shall  be  paid 
by  the  conditions  of  the  contract,  for  then  JOHNSON  will 
have  gained  his  first  cause  ;  therefore  I  am  safe.'  JOHN 
SON,  on  the  other  hand,  being  prodigiously  frightened, 
sought  counsel,  and  was  told  to  reason  thus:  '  DOBSON 
reasons  well,  but  there  must  be  a  flaw  in  his  argument ; 
because  /  and  not  he  will  gain  the  victory.  If  the  suit 
goes  in  my  favor,  I  shall  gain  it  by  the  decision  of  the 
court ;  if  it  goes  against  me,  I  shall  gain  it  by  the  terms 
of  the  contract,  not  having  yet  won  my  first  cause.  Of 
course  I  shall  not  have  to  pay  him  ! '  Vive  la  Logique  ! 


CHURCH  AT  LAKE  GEORGE.     71 


SITTING  in  the  little  church  near  the  'Lake  House,' 
Lake  George,  to-day,  with  congenial  friends,  we  were 
taken  back,  on  the  wings  of  memory,  to  the  days  and  the 
scenes  of  our  boyhood.  We  were  once  more  at  the  old 
homestead,  once  again  at  the  old  country-church ;  for  here 
were  the  high-back'd  ptws,  of  the  native  color  of  the 
wood  ;  the  pulpit  without  adornment ;  the  jack-knife  in 
itials  of  boys,  carried  about  by  no  '  wind  of  doctrine ' 
heard  at  conventicle,  but  contrariwise,  full  o*f  the  very 
*  old  Scratch '  during  sermon-time ;  nay,  here  were  the 
very  psalm-and-hymn  books,  in  the  *  identical '  sheepskin- 
binding  of  yore.  But  no  MOTHER  came  into  that  homely 
pew  with  us,  unfolding  from  around  her  fan  the  sweet- 
smelling  white  handkerchief,  redolent  of  the  aroma  of 
dried  orange-peel,  that  scented  the  very  drawer  whence  it 
was  taken,  and  taking  thence  sprigs  of  fragrant  '  caraway ' 
and  'fennel'  to  give  to  her  little  twin-boys;  no  BROTHER  sat 
there,  with  his  young  heart  even  then  full  of  un uttered 
and  unwritten  poetry,  as  he  looked  through  an  open  win 
dow  upon  the  green  contented  fields  of  summer, —  shim 
mering  in  the  hot  haze  that  hung  over  them,  like  the 
tremulous  rays  which  overhang  a  furnace  —  or  sur 
veyed  on  the  fan  the  fair  pictured  damsel  in  vermillion 
robes  and  blue  hat,  assisting  a  little  boy,  in  bright  yellow 
round-about  and  white  sailor-trowsers,  to  fly  a  scarlet  kite 


72      CHURCH  AT  LAKE  GEORGE. 

with  a  green  tail.  All  these  associations  were  of  the 
Past  : 

'  On,  TiMT5 1  how  in  thy  rapid  flight 
Do  all  Life's  phantoms  flit  away  : 
The  smile  of  hope,  and  young  delight, 
Fame's  meteor-beam  and  fancy's  ray !' 

'  Onward  driveth  Time,  and  in  a  little  while  our  lips  are 
dumb  ! '  All  things  have  their  season,  and  ripen  toward 
the  grave  :  ripen,  fall,  and  cease. 


NUMBER   THREE. 

A  MATTER-OF-FACT  GUEST  :  RAEN  UPON  THE  ROOF:  A  MOTHERS  GRIEF:  THE 
MISSION  OF  LITTLE  CHILDREN:  ACEPHALOUS  — A  NEW  DEFINITION:  INFLU 
ENCE  OF  THE  GEEAT  METROPOLIS  UPON  THE  QCIET  COUNTRYMAN :  A 
'DREADFUL  ACCIDENT' -A  YANKEE'S  REVENGE:  SUGGESTION  OF  A  LOCO 
MOTIVE  ox  A  WINTRY  NIGHT:  A  SCOTCH  'CONSOLATION'  FOE  A  SLIGHT: 

THE  YANKEE  IN  POWER33  STUDIO:  NEW  READINGS  IN  HAMLET:  AN 
'UGLY'  CUSTOMER— FEARLESSNESS  OF  RIVALRY:  DEATH  OF  HONORA  EDGE- 
WORTH:  EXCUSES  FOR  DRINKING:  'OLD  MURPHY'  OF  THE  MOHAWK:  THE 

FEMALE  SMUGGLES. 

THERE  is  an  amusing  character  in  a  sketch  we  have 
just  read :  one  of  those  stupid  matter-of-fact  persons, 
who  can  never  appreciate  a  figure  of  speech,  or  understand 
the  simplest  jest.  A  '  benign  cerulean,'  enthusiastic  for  the 
'rights  of  the  sex,'  remarks  that  woman's  rights  and  duties 
are  becoming  every  day  more  widely  appreciated.  '  The 
old-fashioned  scale  must  be  re-adjusted  ;  and  woman,  no 
ble,  elevating,  surprising  woman,  ascend  to  the  loftiest 
eminence,  and  sit  superior  on  the  topmost  branch  of  the 
social  tree.'  The  ear  of  the  matter  -  of-  fact  man  catches  the 
last  simile,  and  he  ventures  to  say:  'Uncommon  bad 
climbers,  for  the  most  part  in  general,  is  women.  Their 
clothes  is  n't  adapted  to  it.  I  minds  once  I  seen  a  woman 
climb  a  pole  after  a  leo-  of  minting  !'  If  looks  could  have 


74  A    MATTER-OF-FACT    GUEST. 

killed  the  mal-apropos  speaker,  lie  would  not  have  sur 
vived  the  reception  which  this  ridiculous  remark  en 
countered  from  every  guest  at  the  table.  He  was  himseft 
struck  with  the  mournful  silence  that  followed  his  obser 
vation,  and  added,  by  way  of  explanation :  '  That  was  a 
thing  as  happing'd  on  a  pole  ;  in  coors  it  would  be  werry 
different  on  a  tree,  because  of  the  branches.'  At  length, 
however,  the  theme  of  woman  is  renewed  by  the  former 
advocate  :  '  Woman  has  not  yet  received  her  full  develop 
ment.  The  time  will  come  when  her  influence  will  be 
universal ;  when,  softened,  subdued,  and  elevated,  the  ani 
mal  now  called  Man  will  be  unknown.  You  will  be  all 
women  :  can  the  world  look  for  a  higher  destiny  ? '  'In 
coors,'  observed  the  '  actual '  man,  'if  we  are  all  turned  into 
woming,  the  world  will  come  to  an  end.  For  'spose  a 
case  ;  'spose  it  had  been  my  sister  as  married  my  wife,  in 
stead  of  me ;  it 's  probable  there  would  n't  have  been 
no  great  fanibly ;  wich  in  coors,  if  there  was  no  popula 
tion ' 

What  the  result  of  this  supposed  case  would  have  been, 
was  not  permitted  to  transpire.  The  feminine  part  of  the 
company  immediately  rose  and  left  the  table,  and  the 
matter-of-fact  man  to  the  ridicule  of  the  male  guests. 


WE   sat  the  other  evening,  listening  to  the  warmish 
autumn  rain  that-  was  falling  without;  and  while  we  list- 


A    MOTHER'S    GRIEF. 


75 


ened,  we  thought  of  these  lines,  from  the  pen  of  A.  Z. 

LORDNOZOO  : 


'  There  in  fancy  comes  my  mother, 

As  she  used  to  years  agone, 
To  survey  the  infant  sleepers 

Ere  she  left  them  till  the  dawn. 
I  can  see  her  bending  o'er  me, 

As  I  listen  to  the  strain 
"Which  is  played  upon  the  shingles 

By  the  patter  of  the  rain. 

'  Then  my  little  seraph  sister, 

"With  her  wings  and  waving  hair, 
And  her  bright-eyed  cherub  brother, 

A  serene,  angelic  pair, 
Glide  around  my  wakeful  pillow, 

"With  their  praise  or  mild  reproof, 
As  I  listen  to  the  murmur 

Of  the  soft  rain  on  the  roof.' 


N*  the  humid  storm-clouds  gather 

Over  all  the  starry  spheres, 
And  the  melancholy  darkness 

Gently  -weeps  in  rainy  tears, 
Tis  a  joy  to  press  the  pillow 

Of  a  cottage-chamber  bed, 
And  to  listen  to  the  patter 

Of  the  soft  rain  over-head. 

1  Every  tinkle  on  the  shingles 

Has  an  echo  in  the  heart, 
And  a  thousand  dreary  fancies 

Into  busy"  being  start ; 
And  a  thousand  recollections 

"Weave  their  bright  hues  into  woof, 
As  I  listen  to  the  patter 

Of  the  soft  rain  on  the  roof. 


WE  stood  by  a  western  window  of  the  pretty  Episco 
pal  church  at  Binghamton,  on  a  recent  Sunday  morning, 
and  saw  a  funeral  procession  enter  the  gate,  and  defile 
under  the  spring-time  trees,  just  putting  forth  their  first 
tender  verdure.  The  day  was  sunny  and  beautiful;  a  soft 
wind  was  playing  amidst  the  leafy  foliage  and  the  ^rass ; 
and  as  the  sympathizing  concourse  gathered  around  the 
freshly-opened  grave,  we  could  not  help  thinking  how 
darker  must  be  the  hearts  of  the  bereaved  parents,  who 
stood  in  suppressed  anguish  at  its  head,  from  the  very 


76  A    MOTHER'S    GTRIEF. 

beauty  and  brightness  around  them.  The  little  coffin  was 
lowered  into  the  grave ;  the  hollow  sound  of  falling  sand 
and  gravel  fell  faintly  upon  the  ear ;  and  that  only  child 
of  loveliness  and  promise  was  left  in  its  cold  and  narrow  bed, 
until  earth  and  sea  shall  heave  at  the  trump  of  GOD.  As 
we  turned  away  from  the  window,  and  awaited  the  morn 
ing  service  of  the  sanctuary,  we  thought  of  that  desolate 
mother  and  that  bereaved  father,  and  how  impotent  would 
be  all  attemps  at  consolation  for  the  loss  of  an  only  and 
darling  child.  And  therewithal  came  to  mind  the  reflec 
tions  upon  a  similar  scene  of  sadness  by  the  eloquent  au 
thor  of  'The  Mission  of  Little  Children  :'  '  No  one  feels 
the  death  of  a  child  as  a  mother  feels  it.  The  father  can 
not  realize  it  thus.  True,  there  is  a  vacancy  in  his  home 
and  a  heaviness  in  his  heart.  There  is  a  chain  of  associa 
tion  that  at  set  times  comes  round  with  its  broken  link ; 
there  are  memories  of  endearment,  a  keen  sense  of  loss,  a 
weeping  over  crushed  hopes,  and  a  pain  of  wounded  af 
fection.  But  the  Mother  feels  that  one  has  been  taken 
away  who  was  still  closer  to  her  heart.  Hers  has  been 
the  office  of  constant  ministration.  Every  gradation  of 
feature  developed  before  her  eyes ;  she  detected  every  new 
gleam  of  infant  intelligence ;  she  heard  the  first  utterance 
of  every  stammering  word  ;  she  was  the  refuge  of  its  fears, 
the  supply  of  its  wants ;  and  every  task  of  affection  wove 
a  new  link,  and  made  dear  to  her  its  object.  And  when 


ACEPHALOUS:    A    NEW    DEFINITION.      77 

her  child  dies,  a  portion  of  her  own  life  as  it  were  dies 
with  it.     How  can  she  give  her  darling  up,  with  all  these 
loving   memories,   these   fond   associations  ?      The  timid 
hands  that  have  so  often  taken  hers  in  trust  and  love,  how 
can  she  fold  them  on  its  sinless  breast,  and  surrender  them 
to  the  cold  clasp  of  DEATH  ?     The  feet  whose  wanderings 
she    has   watched  so   narrowly,    how   can   she   see  them 
straightened  to  go  clown  into  the  dark  valley  I     The  head 
that  she  has  pressed  to  her  lips  and  bosom,  that  she  has 
watched  in  peaceful  slumber  and  in  burning  sickness,  a 
hair  of  which  she  could  not  see  harmed,  oh,  hou>  can  she 
consign  it  to  the  dark  chamber  of  the  grave  ?     It  was  a 
gleam   of  sunshine  and   a   voice  of  perpetual  gladness  in 
her  home  ;  she  had  learned  from  it  blessed  lessons  of  sim 
plicity,  sincerity,  purity,  faith  ;  it  had  unsealed  within  her 
a  gushing,  never-ebbing  tide  of  affection  ;  when  suddenly 
it  was  taken  away,  and  that  home  is  left  dark  and  silent : 
and  to  the  vain  and  heart-rending  aspiration,  'Shall  that 
dear  child  never  return  again  ?'  there  breaks,  in  response 
through   the  cold   gray  silence    'Xevermore  —  oh,  never 
more!'     The  heart  is  like  a  forsaken  mansion,  and  that 
word  goes  echoing  through  its  desolate  chambers. 


THERE  is  in  WEBSTER'S  old  spelling-book  a  spelling  and 
defining  lesson  of  Avords  of  four  syllables.     A  friend  men- 


78  THE    QUIET    COUNTRYMAN. 

tions  a  ludicrous  mistake  made  by  a  district-school-boy  in 
the  country,  in  the  exercises  of  this  lesson.  One  of  the 
words  happened  to  be  '  Acephalous:  without  a  head.'  It 
was  divided  as  usual  into  its  separate  syllables,  connected 
by  a  hyphen,  (which  'joins  words  or  syllables,  as  sea- 
water  !')  which  probably  led  the  boy  to  give  a  new  word 
and  a  new  definition  :  ' Ikun  spell  it  and  d'fine  it!'  said 
a  lad,  after  the  boy  above  him  had  tried  and  missed ; 
'/fom  do  it;'  and  he  did:  lA-c-e-p-h,  cef,  ACEPII — a  lous 
without  a  head!'  "Most  all  of  'em  laughed,'  our  inform 
ant  says,  '  when  the  boy  said  that !' 


THE  following  opinion  of  our  Great  Metropolis  is  re 
corded  with  a  diamond  on  a  pane  of  glass  in  a  room  of 
the  Astor  House,  which  commands  BARNUM'S  '  Curiosity- 
Shop'  in  front,  and  is  '  right  fernent '  "York  Meetm'-'ouse ' 
on  the  other.  The  writer  rang  for  his  boots  one  morning 
about  day-light,  paid  his  bill  and  left,  vowing  that  he  had 
'  made  his  first  and  last  visit  to  New- York.'  From  his  wild 
look  and  '  used-up'  manner  (nothing  farther  having  been 
heard  of  him,)  it  is  feared  he  has  '  made  way'  with  him 
self: 

'0  GOTHAM!  thy  eternal  roar 

Keeps  me  in  constant  pain ; 
I  never  was  in  'York  before, 

And  I'll  never  come  again  '.' 


THE    QUIET    COUNTRYMAN.  79 

'  Small  blame  to  him  ;'  for  it  is  enough  to  set  even  the 
sedatest  countryman  crazy  to  enter  the  great  thoroughfares 
of  '  a  city  that  is  full  of  stirs,  a  tumultuous  city.'  How 
sober  soever  his  mind,  the  prevailing  excitement  will  seize 
him,  and  he  will  mingle  with  the  conflicting  currents  like  a 
straw  revolving  in.  the  hurrying  eddies  of  a  running  stream. 
In  the  evening,  especially,  when 

• '  all  the  spirit  reels 

At  the  shouts,  the  leagues  of  light, 
The  roaring  of  the  wheels,1 

the  town,  to  one  unused  to  its  busy  scenes,  is  absolutely 
overwhelming. 

'  Can  you  show  me  Main-street  \"  said  an  ingenuous, 
fresh-looking  young  man  to  us,  the  other  morning,  near 
Hudson-Square,  as  we  were  walking  down  to  the  pub 
lication-office.  'Main-street?'  we  asked;  'New- York  has 
no  Main-street  :  you  are  thinking  of  Broadway,  perhaps  ?' 
'  Oh,  yes ;  Broadway  —  that  's  it.  I  did  n't  know  ;  I  never 
ben  in  a  city  afore.'  We  accompanied  him  to  and  down 
Broadway,  and  enjoyed  his  enjoyment  at  all  the  strange 
sights  he  saw.  We  almost  envied  him  the  romantic  new 
ness  of  his  sensations.  He  was  positively  eloquent,  in  his 
simple  way,  as  he  depicted  his  emotions  on  nearing  the 
metropolis  in  the  morning  steamer.  As  he  approached 
this 'London  of  America'  the  cloud  of  coal-reek  which 


80  A  '  D  R  E  A  D  F  u  L    ACCIDENT.' 

overhung  tlie  giant  city,  indicating  its  vicinity  long  before 
he  reached  the  northern  verge  ;  the  many  sails  which  were 
tending  toward  it,  in  the  expanding  river  and  opening  har 
bor  ;  and  at  last,  the  broad  bay,  with  tall  ships  setting  in 
from  the  sea ;  the  steamers  and  water-craft  of  every  des 
cription  hurrying  to  and  fro-  from  eithe*  shore ;  and  the 
Great  Metropolis  itself  stretching  into  the  distance,  with 
its  domes  and  spires,  its  towers,  cupolas  and  'steepled 
chimnies,'  rising  through  a  canopy  of  smoke,  in  the  gray 
dawn  of  a  cloudless  September  morning ;  these,  bursting 
upon  his  sensitive  vision  at  once,  had  filled  his  mind,  anc* 
almost  made  him  a  painter  through  the  medium  of  words, 
He  renewed  within  us  our  love  of,  and  pride  in,  this  our 
pleasant  dwelling-place,  the  great  metropolis  of  our  native 
state.  "What  a  city  shall  we  be  by  and  by ! 


A  CONFIRMED  wag  it  was  who  startled  every  body  on 
the  deck  of  the  '  JOHN  MASON'  steamer  the  other  day,  on 
her  way  from  Albany  to  Troy,  with  the  inquiry,  in  a  loud 
nasal  tone  :  '  Hear  of  that  dreadful  accident  to-day  aboard 
the  Greenbush  hoss-boat  ?'  '  No  !'  exclaimed  half-a-dozen 
by-stan ders  at  once  ;  *  no  !'  —  what  was  it  ?'  ;  Wai,  they 
was  tellin'  of  it  down  to  the  dee-pot ;  and  nigh  as  I  can 
cal'late,  the  hoss-boat  had  got  within  abeout  two  rod  of 
the  wharf,  when  the  larboard-hoss  bu'st  a  flue  ;  carryin' 


A    -DREADFUL    ACCIDENT.'-  81 

away  her  stern,  unshippiir  her  rudder,  and  scaldin'  more 
'n  a  dozen  passengers !  I  do  n't  know  as  there  is  any 
truth  into  it  ;  praps  't  aint  so  ;  but  any  way,  that  's  the 
story.''  The  narrator  was  less  successful,  according  to  his 
own  account,  with  a  rather  practical  joke  which  he  under 
took  to  play  upon  a  Yankee  townsman  of  his,  a  week  or 
two  before,  in  Xew  York.  '  He  never  liked  me  much, 
'xpect,'  said  he,  '  nor  I  did  n't  him,  nuther.  And  I  was 
a-walkin'  along  Pearl-street  in  'York,«sellin'  some  o'  these 
little  notions 'at  you  see  here,  (a  'buck- wheat  fanning-mill,' 
a  '  rotary-sieve'  to  sift  '  apple-saace,'  etc.,)  when  I  see  him 
a-buyin'  some  counter  goods  in  a  store.  So  I  went  in  and 
hail'd  him  :  '  Says  I,  right  off,  jest  as  if  I  'd  seen  him  a- 
doin'  the  same  thing  a  dozen  times  'afore  that  mornin',. 
says  I,  '  Won't  they  trust  you  here,  nuther  ?'  Thunder  ! 
you  never  see  a  man  so  riled.  He  looked  right  straight  at 
me,  and  was  'eeu-araost  white,  he  was  so  mad.  The  clerks 
laafed,  they  did  —  but  he  did  n't,  I  guess.  *  I  want  to 
see  you  a  minute  !'  says  he,  pooty  solemn,  and  comin' 
toward  the  door.  I  went ;  and  just  as  soon  as  I  got  on  to 
the  gridiron-steps  he  kicked  me  !  I  did  n't  care  —  not 
much  then;  but  if  his  geese  do  n't  have  the  Shatick 
cholera  when  I  get  home,  '  you  can  take  my  hat,'  as  they 
say  in  York.  I  was  doiii'  the  merchant  he  was  try  in'  to 
buy  calicoes  on  a  good  turn,  any  how;  for  I  'xpect  he  was 
goin'  to  get  'em  on  trust,  and  I  know'd  he  was  an  all- 
4* 


82  A    LOCOMOTIVE    ON    A    WINTRY    NIGHT. 

mighty  shirk.     I  ruther  guess  he  did  n't  get  'em,  but  I 
do  n't  know  —  not  sartain.' 


WHAT  supernatural  shriek  is  that,  sounding  through 
the  murky  air  of  this  stormy  February  night  ?     Twelve 
o'clock,  too, '  by  'r  Lady  :'  but  be  not  alarmed.     It  is  only 
the  steam-whistle  of  the  iron  horse  on  the  Hudson  River 
rail-road,  rushing  into  the  Great  Metropolis,  at  a  '  two-forty' 
pace,  bringing  with  him  hundreds  of  passengers,  some  of 
whom,  having  never  been  to  town  before,  are  bewildered 
with  its  increasing  vastness ;  the  thickening  lamps;  the 
branching,  crossing,  lengthening,  interminable  streets;  the 
4  leagues  of  light,  the  roaring  of  the  wheels.'     That  same 
snorting  steam-horse,  scarce  an  hour  ago,  as  he  swept  with 
his  train  through  the  very  walls  of  the  state's-prison  at 
Sing-Sing,  rumbled  in  the  ears  of  the  half-wakened  cap 
tives,  illustrating   by   his   own  wild   freedom  the  liberty 
denied  to  them,  and  spoke  of  pleasant  villages  passed,  and 
familiar  scenes  toward  which  he  was  rushing  ;  he  startled 
the   echoes  of  Sleepy-Hollow,    and  the  demons   fled    af 
frighted,  for  a  greater  than  the  steed  erewhile  bestrode  by 
the  '  Headless  Horseman'  was  now  spouting  the  hot  white 
breath  from  his  iron  nostrils  ;  onward  he  came ;  past  golden 
'Sunnyside,'  disturbing  not,   let  us  hope,  the  inmates  of 
that   nest  of  genius    and    refinement;  on  to  '  DOBB,  his 


THE    YANKEE    IN    P  o  w  E  R  s ' s    STUDIO.     83 

Ferry,'  and  over  the  very  soil  of  the  pleasant  places  where 
'  Old'  and  "  Young  KNICK,'  and  his  little  sisters  so  often 
walked  and  frolicked  with  the  '  gooed  vrouw,'  along  the 
shores  of  the  beautiful  Tappaan-Zee.  '  But  what  is  all 
this  about  V  asks  the  reader.  Xothing  in  the  world  but 
the  shrill  whistle  of  a  locomotive,  hollow-sounding  on  the 
dull  ear  of  Xight,  just  as  we  are  going  to  bed. 


IT  is  the  custom,  as  we  learn  from  a  friend,  in  all  parts 
of  Scotland  to  send  invitations,  when  a  death  occurs  in  a 
family,  to  all  the  neighbors  to  attend  the  funeral.  On  one 
occasion,  a  neighbor  was  omitted  by  the  bereaved  family, 
in  the  usual  invitations,  a  feud  having  arisen  between  them. 
On  the  day  of  the  funeral,  while  the  people  were  assem 
bling,  the  slighted  '  auld  wife'  stood  in  her  door,  and 
watched  the  gathering.  At  length,  unable  to  bear  up 
under  her  resentment  any  longer,  she  exclaimed,  '  Aweel ! 
aweel !  we  '11  ha'e  a  corpse  o'  our  ain  in  our  ain  house 
some  day  !  —  see  then  who  '11  be  invited  ! '  What  an 
exhibition  of  human  nature  ! 


By-the-by,  it  may  not  be  amiss  to  remark  in  passing, 
that  it  was  the  identical  4  Greek  Slave'  concerning  which 
the  ensuing  colloquy  took  place  between  the  sculptor  him- 


84    THE    YANKEE    IN    p>w BUS'S    STUDIO. 

self  and  a  successful  Yankee  speculator,  who  had  '  come 
over  to  see  Ew-rope.'  Scene,  POWERS'S  studio  at  Florence  • 
Enter  stranger,  spitting,  and  wiping  his  lips  with  his  hand  . 
'  Be  yeou  Mr.  PEOWERS,  the  Skulpture  ?'  *  I  am  a  sculptor, 
and  my  name  is  POWERS.'  '  Y-e-a-s  ;  well,  I  s'pected  so  ; 
they  teird  me  you  was  —  y-e-a-s.  Look  here  —  drivin'  a 
pretty  stiff  business,  eh  ?'  *  Sir  !'  '  I  say,  plenty  to  du, 
eh  ?  What  d's  one  o'  them  fetch  ?'  '  Sir  !'  *  I  ask't  ye 
what 's  the  price  of  one  o'  them,  sech  as  yeou  're  peckin' 
at  neow.'  '  I  am  to  have  three  thousand  dollars  for  this 
when  it  is  completed.'  '  W-h-a-t  !  ! — lieow  much?' 
'  Three  thousand  dollars.'  '  T-h-r-e-e  t-h-o-o-u-s-a-n-d 
d-o-l-l-a-r-s  !  Han't  statewary  riz  lately  !  I  was  cal'latin' 
to  buy  some  ;  but  it  's  tew  high.  How  's  paintin's  ? 
'Guess  I  must  git  some  paintin's.  T-h-r-e-e  t-h-e-o-u-s-a-n-d 
d-o-l-l-a-r-s  !  Well,  it  is  a  trade,  skulpin  is  ;  that  's  sar- 
tain.  What  do  they  make  yeou  pay  for  your  tools  and 
stuff  ?  S'pect  my  oldest  boy,  CEPHAS,  could  skulp  ;  'fact, 
I  know  he  could.  He  is  always  whittlin'  reound,  and 
cuttin'  away  at  things.  I  wish  you  'd  'gree  to  take  him 
'prentice,  and  let  him  go  at  it  full  chisel.  D'  you  know 
where  I  'd  be  liable  to  put  him  eout  ?  He  'd  cut  stun 
a'ter  a  while  with  the  best  of  ye  ;  he  would  —  and  make 
money,  tew,  at  them  prices.  T-h-r-e-e  t-h-e-o-u-s-a-n-d 
d-o-l-l-a-r-s  ! '  And  the  '  anxious  inquirer'  left  the  presence. 
He  now  exhibits  a  'lot'  of  'fust-rate  paintin's'  to  his 
friends. 


NEW    READINGS    i  N    HAMLET  85 

WE  beg  leave  to  present  two  new  '  renderings '  from 
4  HAMLET,'  which  an  innovating  Yankee  actor  at  the  AYest 
considers  authentic  readings.  He  defends  the  first,  upon 
the  ground  that  the  same  spirit  which  had  '  abused '  HAM 
LET  had  previously  treated  his  friends  discourteously,  kept 
them  up  at  night,  and  prevented  their  sleeping  on  their 
posts.  Hence  '  thus  HAMLET  :' 

'  THE  spirit  that  I  have  seen 

May  be  a  devil ;  and  the  devil  hath  power 
To  assume  a  pleasing  shape ;  yea,  and  perhaps. 
Out  of  my  weakness  and  my  melancholy, 
As  he  is  rery  potent  with  such  spirits, 
Abuses  me  too  —  damn-me  I ' 

This  is  quite  different  from  the  usual  reading,  and  is  as 
much  an  '  improvement '  upon  the  original  as  any  of  Mr. 
HUDSON'S  modern  versions.  The  rendering  in  the  sub 
joined  passage  from  the  same  play  is  defended  on  the 
ground  that  HAMLET  looked  up  to  HORATIO,  in  his  '  weak 
ness  and  his  melancholy,'  as  a  father,  and  therefore  he 
addressed  him  by  a  diminutive  of  that  endearing  tenn  : 

4  HAM.  Dost  thou  think  ALEXANDER  looked  o'  this  fashion  i"  the  earth  ? 

'IIOK.  E'en  so. 

'  HAM.  And  smelt  so,  Pa  ! 

4  HOB.  E'en  so,  my  lord.' 

TYe  submit  these  readings  to  the  hosts  of  SHAKSPERIAN 
commentators  who  infest  societv. 


86  FEARLESSNESS    OF    RIVALRY. 

The  play  of  '  HAMLET  '  was  being  enacted,  and  there 
about  of  it  especially  where  GUILDENSTERX  is  employed  by 
the  DANE  to  play  upon  the  pipe,  just  to  oblige  him.  He 
is  very  importunate  for  the  music,  it  will  be  remembered  ; 
and  on  this  occasion  he  was  accommodated  to  his  heart's 
content.  GUILDENSTERN  replied  to  his  earnest  solicitations, 
that  since  he  was  so  very  pressing,  he  would  give  him  a 
tune  ;  and  forthwith  accomplished,  to  the  best  of  his  small 
ability,  that  sublime  national  air  '  Yankee  Doodle,'  together 
with  certain  extempore  flourishes,  which  he  termed  '  the 
variations.' 


'  THE  WEST  is  a  great  country,  Friend  C ,'  writes 

a  clever  correspondent.  '  Tall  things  happen  there  now 
and  then.  Here  is  a  specimen  :  Having  occasion  to  pass 
through  the  Upper  Lakes  last  June,  I  was  happy  enough 
to  find  myself  a  passenger  on  board  that  palace  of  a  boat 
the  'EMPIRE,'  Emperor  HOWE  commanding.  My  travel 
ling  companion  for  the  time  happened  to  be  a  thorough 
bred  '  Hoosier,'  a  prince  of  a  fellow  ;  one  who  feared  GOD 
and  loved  fun  and  the  ladies,  but  who  was  withal  a  most 
abominable  stammerer.  We  had  n't  been  long  aboard, 
when  the  captain  called  our  attention  to  a  most  remark 
able-looking  individual  seated  at  the  end  of  the  cabin.  I 
am  not  myself  particularly  handsome,  and  have  seen  some 
ill-looking  men  in  my  day  ;  but  so  ugly  a  man  as  this  had 


DEATH    OF    HO.XORA    EDGE  WORTH.       87 

never  crossed  the  scope  of  my  vision.  HOWE  declared 
him  emphatically  '  the  ugliest  man  that  ever  lived  ;'  where 
upon  ray  friend  TOM  offered  to  wager  a  half  dozen  of 
champagne  that  he  had  seen  a  worse  one  hi  the  steerage. 
The  bet  was  at  once  accepted,  and  TOM  started  for  his 
man,  who  was  to  be  brought  up  for  comparison.  He 
found  the  fellow  a  bit  of  a  wag,  as  an  intolerably  homely 
man  is  apt  to  be,  ajid,  after  the  promise  of  a  nip,'  nothing 
loth  to  exhibit  himself.  As  they  entered  the  cabin  door, 
my  friend,  with  an  air  of  conscious  triumph,  turned  to 
direct  our  attention  to  his  champion,  when  he  discovered 
the  fellow  trying  to  insure  success  by  making  up  faces. 
(  St  —  st  —  st  —  stop  r  said  he  ;  '  no  —  no  —  none  of  that  !  You 
st-st-  stay  just  as  God  Almighty  made  you  !  You  ca  - 
:a  -  ca-ca-<  caret  be  beat  /'  And  he  was  n't ! 


Is  NT  this  a  touching  picture  of  the  death  of  HOXORA 
EDGEWORTH,  as  described  by  her  husband  ?  It  so  strikes 
as :  '  after  having  sat  up  all  the  night,  I  was  suddenly  called 
it  six  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Her  sister  was  with  her. 
The  moment  that  I  opened  the  door,  her  eyes,  which  had 
oeen  fixed  in  death,  acquired  sufficient  power  to  turn  them 
selves  toward  me  with  an  expression  of  the  utmost  tender 
ness.  She  was  supported  on  pillows.  Her  left  arm  hung 
over  her  sister's  neck,  bevond  the  bed.  She  smiled,  and 


88  EXCUSES    FOR    DRINKING. 

breathed  her  last !  At  this  moment  I  heard  something-  fall 
on  the  floor.  It  was  her  wedding-ring,  which  she  had 
held  on  her  wasted  finger  to  the  last  instant ;  remember 
ing  with  fond  superstition  the  vow  she  had  made,  never 
again  to  lose  that  ring  but  with  life.  She  never  moved 
again,  nor  did  she  seem  to  suffer  any  struggle.'  '  They 
loved  in  life,  and  in  death  they  were  not  divided !' 


IN  a  certain  town  in  New-Hampshire,  a  certain  inhabi 
tant  thereof  required  for  his  comfortable  enjoyment  at  least 
a  pint'of  '  white-faced  New-England,'  daily.  He  had  be 
come  reduced  in  his  pockets,  so  that  it  became  necessary 
for  him,  like  the  Israelites  of  old,  to  procure  somehow  a 
double  portion  on  the  day  before  the  Sabbath,  that  he  might 
quietly  enjoy  his  church,  of  which  he  was  a  constant  at 
tendant.  On  one  Saturday  he  had  been  very  unfortunate  ; 
for  the  shades  of  evening  began  to  fall,  and  yet  he  had  not 
gathered  his  'spiritual'  manna  for  the  day  of  rest.  A 
neighbor  at  that  moment  requested  him  to  throw  some 
wood  into  his  shed ;  and  after  the  small  job  was  completed, 
gave  him  a  few  cents.  He  saw  that  the  old  fellow  looked 
sad  and  unsatisfied,  and  said  to  him  :  '  Is  n't  that  enough 
for  the  work  ?  Why,  you  can  get  half-a-pint  with  that 
money;  and  can't  you  keep  Sunday  on  that?  '  Why,  I 
suppose  I  could,  'Squire,  but  then,'  (looking  up  with  a 


'OLD      MURPHY1     OF     THE      M  u  H  A  \V  K 


89 


disconsolate    visage,)  but  then,  'Squire,  how  would  it    bo 
kept  ?     This  anecdote  by  a  clever  correspondent  remind? 
us  of  another,  which  we  shall  venture  to  relate  in  this  con 
nection,  though  it  must  needs  suffer  by  the  juxtaposition. 
— ,  who  had  by  degrees  become  so  attached  to  his 
cups  that  lie   could  not  comfortably  go  by  eleven  o'clock 
without  his  'nip'  of  brandy,  and  who  was  yet  anxious  to 
avoid  the  suspicion  of  being  an  habitual  drinker,  was  in 
the  habit  daily  of  inventing  some  excuse  to  the  bar-keeper 
and  those  within  hearing.     He  had  used  up  all  the  stereo 
typed  reasons,  such  as  '  a  slight  pain,'  a  '  a  kind  of  sinking,' 
not   'feeling  right,'  etc.,  etc.     One  Saturday,  at  the  usmil 
hour,  he  called   for  his  brandy-and-water,  saying,  '  I  am 
extremely  dry;    I  am  goiny  to  have  salt  fish  for  dinner  r 
4Xo  excuse  was  better  than  none,'  he  probably  thought. 


* 


OXE  of  the  earliest  settlers  of  old  Schoharie  was  a  man 
named  MURPHY,  more  familiarly  known  as  <  Old  MURPHY.' 
He  was  a  terror  to  the  Indians  and  their  sworn  enemy,  for 
he  had  suffered  much  from  their  robberies,  and  wanton  de 
struction  of  his  crops  and  cattle.  But  his  most  deadly 
hate  arose  from  the  murder  of  his  two  brothers  ;  for  which 
act  lie  solemly  swore  to  devote  his  life  to  their  extermina 
tion.  'Old  MURPHY'  was  a  wily  enemy,  as  the  Indians 
had  well  ascertained;  and  they  sought  his  life  by  all 


90        'OLD    M  u  it  P  H  Y  '  o  F  T  H  E    MOHAWK. 

possible  artifice  and  strategy.  On  one  occasion  their  wiles 
came  near  being  successful.  MURPHY  had  a  cow,  which 
wandered  from  his  cabin  during  the  day  to  browse  in  the 
woods,  with  a  bell  suspended  from  her  neck  to  indicate 
her  whereabout ;  returning  always  at  night  to  be  milked, 
and  with  '  udders  all  drawn  dry  '  to  stand  and  '  inly  ru 
minate  '  by  the  hut  until  morning  called  her  to  sally  forth 
again.  One  evening  she  failed  to  return  ;  another  day 
passed,  and  with  it  the  hour  '  when  the  kye  came  hame ' 
usually,  but  she  came  not.  Fearing  that  she  had  met 
with  foul  play,  MURPHY  started,  with  his  rifle  on  his 
shoulder,  to  '  look  her  up,'  following  the  direction  she  was 
takino-  when  she  left  the  hut.  After  several  hours  of  fruit- 

O 

less  pursuit,  the  faint  sound  of  her  familiar  bell  in  the  dis 
tance  gladdened  his  ear.  '  It's  all  right !'  said  he,  in  his 
delight  at  finding  her ;  and  he  rapidly  neared  the  spot 
whence  the  sound  proceeded,  a  thicket  of  close  under 
growth,  in  the  heart  of  the  forest.  All  at  once  he  stopped 
short.  That  is  '  Old  Spot's  bell?  said  he,  '  but  it's  not  on 
her  neck  ;  she  do  n't  swing  her  bell  in  that  way  when  she 
browses.  There 's  mischief  here  '.'  Cautiously  approaching 
•  the  spot  whence  the  slow  and  regular  *  ting-a-ling '  pro 
ceeded,  he  saw  at  some  sixty  yards  distant  two  Indians 
seated  upon  an  old  mossy  log,  peering  intently  now  and 
then  into  the  recesses  of  the  wood,  and  at  intervals  of 
three  or  four  minutes  slowly  swinging  the  cow-bell,  which 


THE    FEMALE    SMUGGLER.  91 

they  thought  would  bring  '  Old  MURPHY  '  into  their  toils, 
1  as  a  bird  hasteth  to  the  snare.'  But  it  was  his  hour  of 
joy,  not  theirs.  He  watched  the  movements  of  the  red 
rascals  as  a  cat  watches  a  mouse  when  safe  in  her  claws. 
Secure  from  observation  behind  a  large  tree,  he  selected 
the  ;  bell-wether,'  and  with  deliberate  aim  sent  a  bullet 
through  his  heart.  The  Indian  uttered  one  shriek,  sprang 
three  feet  or  more  upward,  and  dropped  dead  beside  the 
log  upon  which  he  had  been  sitting.  His  comrade  looked 
round  in  amazement  to  gather  the  direction  of  the  shot, 
and  then  shouldered  the  dead  body  of  his  comrade,  and 
was  moving  off,  when  a  second  shot  from  the  musket 
which  MURPHY  had  by  this  time  loaded,  laid  him  and  his 
dead  companion  lifeless  together.  There  were  two  withered 
scalps  hanging  on  each  smoky  jamb  of  Old  MURPHY'S 
fire-place  for  more  than  twenty  years  :  and  he  ahvays  re 
garded  them  with  a  '  grim  smile '  when  he  was  rehearsing 
the  history  of  their  acquisition. 


*  Poetry  Run  Ma<V  is  inadmissible,  on  two  accounts. 
In  the  first  place,  it  strikes  us  we  have  met  parts  of  it  at 
least  before  ;  and  in  the  second,  the  style  has  '  outlived  our 
liking.'  Xobody  but  HOOD  manages  well  this  ragged 
species  of  verse  ;  a  very  clever  specimen  of  which  is  con 
tained  in  his  '  Custom-House  Breeze?  the  story  of  a  lady- 


92  THE    FEMALE    SMUGGLER. 

smuggler  who  would  not  go  ashore  at  Dover,  because  there 
was  '  a  searching  wind '  blowing,  which  might  expose  the 
lace-swathings  of  her  person  : 

'  IN  spite  of  rope  and  barrow,  knot,  and  tuck, 

Of  plank  and  ladder,  there  she  stuck ! 
She  could  n't,  no,  she  would  n't  go  on  shore. 

'  But,  Ma'am,1  the  steward  interfered, 
'  The  wcssel  must  be  cleared. 
You  urns'  n't  stay  aboard,  Ma'am,  no  one  do  n't! 
It 's  quite  ag'in  the  orders  so  to  do, 
And  all  the  passengers  has  gone  but  you.' 
Says  she,  'I  cannot  go  ashore  and  won't! 
'  You  ought  to  ! ' 
'  But  I  can't ! ' 
'  You  must ! ' 
'I  shan't!" 


NUMBER    FOUR, 

THE  QUACK-DOCTOR  C  NAPOLEON  AND  HIS  BATTLIS  :  MAL-ADROIT  COMPLI 
MENT  I  THE  LIVING-DEAD  !  PURSUIT  OF  KNOWLEDGE  UNDER  DIFFICULTIES  : 
A  TEMPERANCE  STOBY  !  COMFORT  OF  COMMON  THINGS  :  A  HOG  IX  AEMOR  : 
POETRY  OF  TUE  ALPHABET:  AUTHENTIC  ANECDOTE  OF  THE  DCKE  OF  WEL 
LINGTON  :  PERILS  OF  A  JACKASS  :  A  MAN'S  OWN  HOME  :  INSIGNIA  OF 
•HZNPECKERY'  —  THE  HELPLESS  'HELP-MATE':  SONNETEERING,  WITH  A 
SPECIMEN  :  REMINISCENCES  :  DEATH  OF  A  GOOD  MAN. 

*  T  STUMBLED  on  a  character  the  other  evening,'  writes 
J-  a  friend,  'on  board  a  steam-boat,  which  presented 
some  traits  that  I  thought  rather  original  and  unique.  I 
daguerreotyped  him  on  the  spot.  I  had  just  finished  supper, 
and  was  quietly  enjoying  my  cigar  on  the  deck,  when  I  heard 
an  individual  declaiming  in  a  loud  tone  of  voice  to  some 
two  or  three  attentive  listeners,  (but  evidently  intended  for 
the  benefit  of  whomsoever  it  might  concern,)  on  pathology. 
Being  as  it  were  thus  invited,  I  also  became  a  listener  to 
something  like  the  following  :  '  There  it  is  now!  Well, 
some  people  talk  about  seated  fevers.  I  do  n't  know  any 
thing  about  seated  fevers  ;  there  aint  no  such  thinq;  as 
seated  fever.  A  musquitoe-bite  is  a  fever;  cure  the  bite. 
and  the  fever  leaves  you.  So  with  a  lile—ju$t  the  same 
thing:  their  aint  no  suck  thing.  I  tell  YOU,  as  seated  fever. 


94  THE    QUACK    DOCTOR. 

TLe  fact  is,  your  regular  doctor  practizes  according  to 
books.  I  practize  according  to  common  sense.  Now  there 
was  Dr.  RUGG>  of  our  village,  the  Sampson  of  the  Mate- 
rier-Medicker.  Well,  lie  treats  fevers  according  to  the 
books  ;  consequence  is  I  get  all  the  patients :  and  he  says 
to  me  one  day,  says  he,  '  why,'  said  he,  '  how  is  it,  you  get 
all  the  fever  cases  ? '  And  I  told  him  exactly  how  it  was  ; 
and  it  is  so.  '  Well,  Doctor,  interrupted  one  of  the  list 
eners,  '  How  do  you  treat  fevers  ? '  *  Well,  there  it  w,  you 
see ;  you  ask  me  how  I  treat  fevers !  If  you  had  asked 
me  when  I  first  commenced  practizing  I  could  ha'  told 
you  ;  cant  tell  you  now.  I  treat  cases  just  as  I  find  'em, 
according  to  common  sense.  And  there  it  is  :  now  there 
was-  Mrs.  SCUTTLE  ;  she  was  taken  sick ;  all  the  folks  said 
she  had  the  consumption  ;  had  two  doctors  to  her  ;  did  n't 
do  her  a  single  mossel  o'  good.  They  sent  for  me.  Well, 
as  I  went  into  the  house,  I  see  a  lot  o'  tanzy  and  a  flock 
of  chickens  by  the  door :  felt  her  pulse :  says  I,  '  Mrs. 
SCUTTLE,  you  aint  no  more  got  the  consumption  than  I've 
got  it.  Two  weeks,  an'  I  cured  her ! '  '  Well,  doctor,  how 
did  you  cure  her  ? '  '  How  did  I  cure  her  ?  There  it  is 
ag'in  !  I  told  you  I  see  a  lot  of  tanzy  and  a  flock  of 
chickens  growing  at  the  door.  I  gi'n  her  some  of  the 
tanzy  and  a  fresh-laid  egg  —  brought  her  right  up.  It's 
kill  or  cure  with  me !  In  foct,  I  call  myself  an  officer. 
My  saddle-bags  is  my  soldiers,  and  my  disease  my  inimy. 


NAPOLEON    AND    HIS    BATTLES.          95 
I  rush  at  him  ;  and  'ither  he  or  me  has  got  to  conquer.     I 


never  give  in  ! 


'My  cigar  was  out ;  and  while  lighting  another,  the 
doctor  vanished  :  possibly  hastened  by  the  influence  of 
one  of  his  own  prescriptions.' 


WE  always  associate,  and  at  once,  with  XAP  OLE  ox's 
name,  the  dreadful  scenes  presented  by  his  deserted  battle 
fields  ;  such  for  an  example  as  marked  the  sanguinary  con 
tests  of  his  Russian  campaign.  Here  is  a  sketch  of  one, 
from  the  pen  of  an  eye  witness  :  *  The  battle-field  pre 
sented  a  terrible  picture  of  ruin  and  carnage,  especially  on 
the  left  and  centre,  where  the  greatest  efforts  had  been 
made  to  take,  maintain,  and  retake  the  redoubts.  Corpses 
of  the  slain,  broken  arms,  dead  and  dying  horses,  covered 
every  elevation  and  filled  every  hollow,  and  plainly  indi 
cated  the  progress  of  the  action.  In  the  front  of  the  re 
doubts  lay  the  bodies  of  the  French ;  behind  the  works, 
showing  that  they  had  been  carried,  lay  the  Russians.  On 
many  points  the  heaps  of  corpses  told  where  squares  of 
infantry  had  stood,  and  plainly  pointed  out  the  size  of  the 
closely  formed  masses.  From  the  relative  number  of  the 
slain,  it  was  easy  to  perceive  that  the  Russians  had  suffered 
more  than  the  French  ! '  And  this  is  but  one  of  hundreds 
of  similar  scenes  !  Yet,  '  had  these  poor  fellows  any  quar- 


96  MAL-ADROIT     COMPLIMENT. 

rel  ?  Busy  as  the  Devil  is,  not  the  smallest !  Their  Gov 
ernors  had  fallen  out!'  If  one  could  indulge  a  'grim 
smile '  at  any  thing  in  relation  to  BONAPARTE,  it  would  be 
at  the  potential  military  standard  to  which  he  reduced 
every  thing.  Do  you  remember  his  order  on  the  appear 
ance  of  the  Mamelukes  in  Egypt  ?  '  Form  square ;  artillery 
to  the  angles  ;  asses  and  savants  to  the  centre  ! '  Charac 
teristic  ;  but  complimentary  that,  to  the  'learned  savants!' 
'  Asses  and  savants  to  the  centre  !  ' 


4  READER,  did  you  never  encounter  a  person  who  was 
always  striving,  in  the  presence  of  ladies,  to  lug  in  '  a  com 
pliment'  (as  that  is  called  which  compliment  is  none)  to 
the '  fair  sex  ? '  Is  there  a  greater  bore  in  the  infinite  region 
of  Boredom  ?  Somebody  has  lately  '  illuminated '  a  speci 
men  of  this  class,  in  a  pleasant  anecdote.  A  lady,  whose 
attention  he  had  been  trying  to  force  all  the  evening,  ob 
served,  in  the  words  of  an  old  saying,  and  with  a  slight 
shudder  as  from  cold,  '  I  feel  as  if  a  goose  were  walki no- 
over  my  grave ; '  the  origin,  we  may  suppose,  of  the  term 
'cold-goose-pimple.'  Sir  Compliment  Hunter  thought  of 
ROMEO'S  aspiration,  '  Oh !  that  I  were  a  glove  upon  that 
hand ! '  and  replied  :  '  Oh  !  would  /  were  that  goose ! ' 
Goose  truly  he  was  ;  but  the  bright,  clear  idea  of  hoping 
he  might  be  the  interesting  bird  which  should  walk  over 


THE    L  i  v  r  N  G  -  D  E  A  D  .  97 

the  grave  of  one  whom  he  professed  so  ardently  to  admire, 
was  a  notion  which  could  only  have  entered  a  brain  like 
his  own. 


IT  was  a  sad  thing  just  now,  in  the  gay  and  busy 
Broadway,  under  a  sunny,  cloudless  sky,  with  the  health 
ful  current  of  life  corn-sing  joyously  in  our  own  veins,  to 
relinquish  the  feverish  and  wasted  hand  of  a  friend  at 
whose  door  DEATH  will  call  ere  long,  and  walk  with  him 
through  the  Dark  Valley.  '  I  am  going,'  said  he,  in  a 
voice  scarcely  above  a  whisper  ;  '  I  am  fast  going ;  I  shall 
leave  all  this  ! '  and  he  turned  his  glassy  eyes  upward  to 
the  calm  clear  heavens,  and  waved  his  hand  toward  the 
busy  crowds  that  rolled  through  the  street  or  pattered  with 
hasty  steps  upon  the  pave  ;  ;  I  shall  soon  leave  all  this  !' 
'It  is  but  too  true!'  thought  we,  as  we  turned  to  watch 
his  slowly-receding  footsteps : 

'  YET  a  few  days,  and  thee 

The  all-beholding  sun  shall  sec  no  more 
In  all  his  course ;  nor  yet  in  the  cold  ground, 
Where  thy  pale  form  was  laid,  with  many  tears, 
Xor  in  the  embrace  of  ocean,  shall  exist 
Thy  image.' 

May  he  be  able  to  say  with  joy,  when  the  Last  Mee 
senger  shall  await  his  departure,  '  Come  DEATH  to  this 
frail,  failing,  dying  body !  come  the  immortal  life  ! ' 


98  PURSUIT    OF    KNOWLEDGE. 


STANDING  with  a  friend  the  other  day  by  the  river-side, 
to  take  in  the  noble  coup  d'ceil  of  the  new  steamer  KNICK 
ERBOCKER,  we  overheard  a  little  anecdote  connected  with 
water-craft,  which  made  our  companion  merry  all  the  way 
home  ;  which  we  shall  here  transcribe ;  '  and  which  it  is 
hoped  may  please.'     '  It  seems  there  was '  (nay,  we  know 
not  seems,  there  ivas)  a  verdant  youth  from  the  interior  of 
Connecticut,  for  the. first  time  on  board  a  steamboat.     His 
curiosity  was   unbounded.      He  examined  here,  and  he 
scrutinized  there;  he  wormed  from  the  engineer  a  compul 
sory  lecture  on  the  steam  engine  and  mechanics  in  general, 
and  from  the  fireman  an  essay  on  the  power  of  white  heat, 
and  the  '  average  consumption   of   pine  cord-'ood.'      At 
length  his  inquiring  mind  was  checked  in  its  investigations, 
and  '  the  pursuit  of  knowledge  under  difficulties '  made  at 
once  apparent.     He  had  mounted  to  the  wheel-house,  and 
was  asking  the  pilot :  '  What  you  doin'  that  for,  Mister  ?  — 
what  good  does  't  do  ?'  when  he  was  observed  by  the  cap 
tain,  who  said,  in  a  gruff  voice :  '  Go  away  from  there ! 
Don't  you  see  the  sign,  '  No  talkin'  to  the  man  at  the  hel 
ium  ? '     Go  'way ! '     *  Oh  !  certing  —  yaes ;  I  only  wanted 

to  know '  '  Well,  you  do  know  now  that  you  can't 

talk  to  him  ;  so  go  'way  ! '  With  unwilling  willingness, 
the  verdant  youth  came  down  ;  and,  as  it  was  soon  dark, 
he  presently  went  below  ;  but  four  or  five  times  before  he 


A     TEMPERANCE    STORY.  99 

*  turned  in,'  he  was  on  deck,  and  near  the  wheel-house, 
eyeing  it  with  a  thoughtful  curiosity ;  but  with  the  cap 
tain's  public  rebuff  still  in  his  ears,  venturing  to  ask  no 
questions.  In  the  first  gray  of  the  dawn,  he  was  up,  and 
on  deck;  and  after  some  hesitation,  perceiving  nobody 
near  but  the  pilot,  who  was  turning  the  wheel,  as  when  he 
had  last  seen  him,  he  preferred  his  *  suppressed  question ' 
in  the  oblique  style  peculiar  to  his  region  :  *  Wai,  goin'  it 
yit  ha?  —  been  at  it  all  night?  —  a-screew'm  on  her  up  ? 
eh  ? '  What  vague  conjectures  must  have  bothered  the 
poor  querist's  brain,  during  the  night,  may  be  partly  in 
ferred  from  the  absurd  but  '  settled  conviction '  to  which 
he  had  at  length  arrived  ! 


4  A  Temperance  Stony1  relies  mainly  for  its  '  fun,  which 
the  Editor  seems  to  enjoy,'  upon  an  ancient  JOSEPHUS 
MILLERIUS.  The  collateral  anecdote,  however,  toward  its 
close,  is  not  so  much  amiss.  Two  young  men,  *  with  a 
humming  in  their  heads,'  retire  late  at  night  to  their  room 
in  a  crowded  inn  ;  in  which,  as  they  enter,  are  revealed 
two  beds  ;  but  the  wind  extinguishing  the  light,  they  both, 
instead  of  taking,  as  they  supposed,  a  bed  apiece,  wet  back- 
to-back  into  one  bed,  which  begins  to  sink  under  them, 
and  come  around  at  intervals,  in  a  manner  very  circumam 
bient,  but  quite  impossible  of  explication.  Presently  one 


100         COMFORT    OF  COMMON  THINGS. 

observes  to  the  other  :  '  I  say,  TOM,  somebody's  in  my  bed.1 
'  Is  there  1 '  says  the  other ;  '  so  there  is  in  mine,  d  —  n  him ! ' 
Let's  kick  'em  out !  The  next  remark  was  :  '  TOM,  I've 
kicked  my  man  overboard.'  '  Good ! '  says  his  fellow-toper ; 
'  better  luck  than  I ;  my  man  has  kicked  me  out  —  d — d 
if  he  has  n't  —  right  on  the  floor  ! '  Their  'relative  posi 
tions  '  were  not  apparent  until  the  next  morning. 


THERE  is  a  good  deal  of  comfort  in  Common  Things. 
Is  n't  there,  though  ?     Just  rung  the  sanctum-bell  for  KITTY 
to  come  up  and  bring  us  a  slice  of  bread-and-butter.     It 
is   after  twelve  o'clock  of  a  rainy  October  night ;  for  we 
are  closing  the  November  number,  and  our  self-imposed 
'  stent'  is  to  get  all  through  before  we  go  to  bed.     When 
we  take  a  '  stent,'  we  do  it.     We  used  to,  when  hoeing  po 
tatoes,  '  cutting  stalks,'  pulling  flax,  and  husking   corn  in 
'  the  ked'ntry,'  and  we  can  do  it  yet.     Well,  KITTY  did  n't 
come;  she  had  retired  to  'the  arms  of  MURPHY.'     So  we 
took  the  light  and  went  down  to  the  kitchen  to  help  our 
selves.     It  was  very  clean  and  neat.     A  solitary  cricket  re 
treated  under  the  range  as  we  entered  with   our  bright 
Carcel  lamp.    The  white  floor  was  '  swept  and  garnished  ; ' 
and  the  week's  'washing  and  ironing'  hung  on  the  white- 
pine    clothes-horse.      How    sweet   those   linen    garments 
Kin  el  led  !     And  'young  KNICK'S'   '  sack,'  and  little  JOSE'S 


A    HOG    ix    ARMOR.  101 

pink  frock,  and  the  *  wee '  one's  small  stockings,  although 
the  wearers  themselves  were  rapt  in  rosy  slumbers  upstairs, 
were  not  uninhabited,  to  our  eyes,  at  that  moment,  though 
they  were  hanging  in  the  kitchen.  "VTe  enjoyed  those  twin- 
slices  of  bread-and-butter,  with  two  tender,  cross-cut,  crumb 
ling  pieces  of  corned-beef  sandwiched  between,  and  a 
pickled  walnut.  After  all,  many  of  our  passing  enjoyments 
are  made  up  of  trifles  like  this.  Is  n't  it  so  ? 


WE  do  n't  know  when  we  have  laughed  more  heartily 
than  at  a  sight  which  we  encountered  the  other  day  in 
Broadway.  A  portly  female  of  the  Porcine  genus,  in  a 
high  state  of  *  maternal  solicitude,'  was  perambulating 
slowly  along  the  street,  with  three  hoops  around  her  ex 
panded  person.  Indeed,  she  seemed  thoroughly  secured 
against  any  accident  in  the  way  of  explosion.  She  was 
indebted  doubtless  to  the  hoops  by  escaping  clandestinely 
from  some  'tight  fit'  of  a  barrel  into  which  she  had  forced 
herself  in  search  of  provant,  and  which  had  collapsed  up 
on  her  pei-son  in  the  larcenous  act.  By-the-by,  '  speaking 
of  pigs,'  we  perceive  that  an  enterprising  Yankee  is  about 
revising  some  of  the  musty  apothegms  of  the  day,  and  veri 
fying  their  absurdity.  He  has  already  made  l  a  whistle 
out  of  a  pig's  tail,'  and  has  a  very  handsome  silk  purse 
nearly  completed  for  a  new-year's  present,  which  is  fabri 
cated  raainlv  from  '  a  sow's  ear !  ' 


1.02         THE    DUKE    OF    WELLINGTON 


HE  was  a  '  man  of  letters '  who  wrote  the  following. 
It  is  a  new  style  of  poetry  altogether.  It  will  be  seen  that 
every  letter  of  the  final  word  must  be  pronounced  as 
though  DILWORTH  himself  presided  at  the  perusal.  The 
letter  or  letters  in  Italics  will  be  found  to  constitute  the 
rhyme.  There  is  a  good  deal  more  of  it,  but  this  is  suffi 
cient  to  serve  as  a  specimen  : 

1  Ox  going  forth  last  night  a  friend  to  see, 

I  met  a  man,  by  trade  s-n-o-&  ; 

Eeeling  along  the  path  he  held  his  way  : 

'  Ho !  ho  I1  quoth  I,  '  lie's  d-r-u-n-&  /  ' 

Then  thus  to  him :  '  Were  it  not  better  far, 

You  were  a  little  s-o-b-e-r  ? 

'Twere  happier  for  your  family,  I  guess, 

Than  playing  off  such  wild  r-i-g-s ; 

Beside,  all  drnnkards,  when  policemen  see  'em, 

Are  taken  up  at  once  by  t-h-e-m ! ' 


THE  following  anecdote  of  the  DUKE  OF  WELLINGTON, 
which  we  derive  from  an  original  source  of  the  highest  re 
spectability,  may  be  relied  upon  as  entirely  authentic : 
Lord  WELLINGTON  was  dining  at  a  public  dinner  at  Bor 
deaux,  given  to  him  by  the  authorities,  when  he  received 
a  despatch  from  Paris,  informing  him  of  the  abdication  of 
NAPOLEON.  He  turned  to  his  aid-de-camp,  FREEMANTLE  : 
4  Well,'  said  he,  in  his  knowing  sportsman  tone, '  we  Ve  run 


PERILS    OF    A    JACKASS.  103 

the  fox  to  his  hole  at  last.'  *  What  do  you  mean  ? '  said 
FRZEMANTLE.  *  XAPOLEON  has  abdicated.'  FREEMANTLE 
uttered  an  exclamation  of  .surprise  and  delight.  *  Hush  ! 
not  a  word!'  said  WELLINGTON;  'let  's  have  our  dinner 
comfortably.'  He  laid  the  letter  beside  him,  and  went  on 
calmly  eating  his  dinner.  When  the  dinner  was  over, 
*  There!'  said  he  to  Monsieur  LYNCH,  the  Mayor  of  Bor 
deaux,  4  there  's  something  will  please  you.'  The  mayor  cast 
his  eye  over  the  letter,  and  in  an  instant  was  on  the  table 
announcing  the  news.  The  saloon  rang  with  acclamations 
for  several  minutes.  The  mayor  then  begged  leave  to  give 
a  toast :  4  WELLINGTON,  the  Liberator  of  France  ! '  It  was 
received  with  thundering  applause.  The  Spanish  consul 
rose,  and  begged  leave  to  give  a  toast.  It  was  the  same  : 
4  WELLINGTON,  the  Liberator  of  France ! '  There  was 
another  thunder  of  applause.  The  Portuguese  consul  did 
the  same,  with  like  effect.  The  mayor  rose  again,  and 
gave  '  WELLINGTON,  the  Liberator  of  EUROPE  ! '  Here  the 
applause  was  astounding.  WELLINGTON,  who  sat  all  the 
while  picking  his  teeth,  now  rose,  made  one  of  his  know 
ing  civil  bows  to  the  company  round  :  '  JACK,'  said  he, 
turning  to  FREEMANTLE,  '  let 's  have  coffee.' 


THE  '  Pioneer  Watch  '  will  find  none  but  admirers.   We 
hope  to  hear  often  from   the  writer.     He   will  always  be 


104  A    MAN'S    OWN    HOME. 

cordially  welcomed.  His  sketch  of  the  old  mule  is  like  a 
pictured  animal  by  PAUL  POTTER  ;  and  if  his  description 
of  the  bray  of  a  jackass  is  not  perfection,  we  cannot  con 
ceive  of  such  a  thing  :  '  an  asthma,  carried  on  by  powerful 
machinery  ! '  DICKENS  never  hit  off  any  thing  more  feli 
citously.  '  Speaking  of  jack-asses,'  what  a  melancholy 
fact  that  is,  which  is  recorded  by  a  Louisiana  journal : 
'  While  the  l  mentangentrie'  was  being  exhibited  here,  an 
old  negro  man  drove  his  cart,  which  was  drawn  by  a  mule, 
near  the  pavilion,  with  a  view  of  taking  a  peep  at  the  mon 
keys.  The  mule  and  cart  were  left  alone  while  CATO 
amused  himself  at  the  '  show.'  When  the  performance 
was  over,  the  company  commenced  packing  up  for  the  next 
village,  and  when  the  canvass  was  withdrawn,  the  elephant 
stood  naked  just  before  the  mule,  which  gave  one  single 
bray,  and  fell  dead  in  the  harness.'  Who  can  depict  the 
horror,  the  intense,  the  '  excreuciating  '  horror,  which  must 
have  pervaded  that  poor  donkey's  bosom  ! '  None  but  a 
jackass  can  appreciate  the  depth  of  the  emotion  conveyed 
by  that  sonorous  bray,  with  its  '  dying  fall  1 ' 


THE  following  thoughts,  by  the  author  of  *  Friends  in 
Council,'  are  replete  with  the  true  feeling  of  which  they 
are  the  offspring  :  '  A  man's  own  home  is  a  serious  place 
to  him.  There  it  is  he  has  known  the  sweetness  and  the 


INSIGNIA    OF    •  H  E N P  E  c  K  E  R  Y . '         1 05 

bitterness  of  early  loves  and  early  friendship?.  There, 
mayhap,  he  has  suffered  one  of  those  vast  bereavements 
which  was  like  a  tearing  away  of  a  part  of  his  own  soul : 
when  he  thought  each  noise  in  the  house,  hearing  noises 
that  he  never  heard  before,  must  be  something  thev  were 
doing  in  the  room  —  the  room  —  where  lay  all  that  was 
mortal  of  some  one  inexpressibly  dear  to  him ;  when  he 
awoke  morning  after  morning  to  struggle  with  a  grief 
which  seemed  as  new,  as  appalling,  and  as  large  as  on  the 
first  day  ;  which  indeed,  being  part  of  himself,  and  thus 
partaking  of  his  renovated  powers,  rose  equipped  with 
what  rest  or  alacrity  sleep  had  given  him  ;  aacl  sank, 
uncouquered,  only  when  be  was  too  wearied  in  body  and 
mind  to  attend  to  it,  or  to  any  thino-.' 


'  I  VE  always  remarked,'  says  that  profound  observer, 
Mr.  'CHAWLS  YELLOWPLUSH,'  that  when  you  see  a  wife  a- 
takin1  on  airs  onto  herself,  a-scoldink,  and  internally  a- 
talkin'  about  '  her  dignity'  and  '  her  branch,' that  the- hus 
band  is  inwariably  a  spoon.'  A  friend  of  ours  says  that 
he  was  reminded  of  this  sage  remark  the  other  night,  in 
coming  down  the  Hudson.  A  large,  fat,  pompous  woman, 
who  was  ever  and  anon  overlooking  her  husband,  (a  thin, 
lank  personage,  with  a  baby  in  his  arms,  who  exhibited 
every  mark  of  prolonged  annoyance,)  in  reply  to  a  meek 


106  SONNETEERING. 

complaint  on  his  part  of  fatigue,  and  the  expression  of  a 
wish  that  the  nurse  might  very  soon  get  over  her  sea-sick 
ness,  said  : 

'  I  never  saw  a  man  conduct  so  before  —  never,  on  the 
face  o'  the  globed  airth  !  If  I'd  ha'  known  that  you  was 
goiu'  to  act  in  this  way,  /  certainly  would  rit  ha?  fetched 
you  !  ' 

The  gentleman  straitway  sang  the  *  Lay  of  the  Hen 
pecked  '  to  the  crying  baby,  and  from  that  time  forth,  was 
us  mum  as  an  oyster. 


N  says,  in  a  letter  to  Moore,  '  I  never  wrote  but 
one  sonnet  before,  and  that  was  not  in  earnest,  and  many 
years  ago,  as  an  exercise  /  and  I  will  never  write  another. 
They  are  the  most  puling,  petrifying,  stupidly  platonic 
compositions.'  To  which  I  subscribe.  I  do  not  mean  to 
say  that  good  sonnets  have  not  been  written.  I  have  seen 
such  ;  it  is  the  school  that  is  bad.  They  are  like  Flemish 
pictures,  or  as  the  painter  said  of  the  sardines,  'Little 
fishes  done  in  oil.''  But  as  I  have  been  requested  to  write 
a  sonnet,  I  will  not  refuse  you,  yet  I  am  sure  I  would  not 
do  so  again  even  for  a  friend  ;  that  is,  a  friend  for  whom  I 
had  an  especial  regard:  sonneteering  is  too  nice  a  matter; 
the  better  done,  the  worse  ;  and  I  think,  with  DISRAELI, 
1  Extreme  exactness  is  the  sublime  of  fools.'  Nevertheless 
here  is  the  thing.  If  you  wish  to  put  it  among  your 


DEATH    OF    A    G-OOD    MAN.  107 

'  KxiCK'-Knacks,  you  may  have  consent  thereto,  thinking 
that  it  may  do  some  good  :' 

4  A  SOXXET  ? '  well,  if  it  "s  within  my  ken, 

I'll  write  one  with  a  moral.    When  a  boy, 

One  Christmas  morn  I  went  to  buy  a  toy, 
Or  rather  we ;  I  and  my  brother  BEX  ; 
But  so  it  chanced  that  day  I  had  but  ten 

Cents  in  my  fist,  but  as  we  walked,  '  Be  goy- 

Blamed*  if  we  did  n't  meet  one  PAT  McCoy, 
An  Irishman,  one  of  my  father's  men, 

"Who  four  more  gave,  which  made  fourteen  together. 
Just  then  I  spied,  in  a  most  unlucky  minute, 

A  pretty  pocket- wallet ;  lik«  a  feather. 
My  money  buys  it    BEX  began  to  grin  it  : 

'  You  're  smart,'  says  he ;  '  you  've  got  a  heap  of  leather, 
But  Where's  them  cents  you  wanted  to  put  in  itf 


JUST  been  reading,  and  with  no  small  interest,  *  An 
Historical  Discourse]  giving  the  history  of  the  little  town 
of  our  nativity,  the  place  where  '  Aunt  LUCY'S  twins'  were 
baptized.  The  names  and  histories  of  all  the  pastors,  from 
the  earliest  settlement  of  the  place  to  the  present  period, 
are  given ;  and  as  we  read  them,  how  many  pictures  from 
the  *  dark  backward  and  abysm  of  time '  arose  to  view ! 

Parson  W ,  for  example,  how  well  we  remember  him  ! 

'  A  man  severe  he  was,  and  stern  to  view,'  but  a  good  man 
at  heart,  no  doubt.  We  recollect  him  so  far  back  as  the 
time  when  our  childish  fancy  was,  that  when  he  got  up  to 


108  DEATH    OF    A    GOOD    MAN. 

speak,  he  '  took  his  text '  out  of  a  small  box  under  the 
pulpit-cushion  ;  we  forget  now  what  we  then  thought  the 

*  Text '  was ;  but  we  once  saw  something  like  what  we  re 
membered  for  a  dim  moment  to  have  thought  it,  in  a  toy- 
store  on  Christmas-eve,  some  years  ago  !     We  were  always 
afraid  of  Parson  W  -   — ,  *  we  boys ;'  and  many  and  many 
a  time  have  we  gone  and  hid  when  he  approached  the 
house.     Religion  was  a  'dreadful  thing'  in  those  days. 
Cheerfulness  was  tabooed  ;  and  a  solemn  visage  and  a  cold 
demeanor  were   the  outward  and  visible  signs  of  having 

*  obtained   a   hope.1     A  common  '  professor '  was  not  to  be 
encountered   without  emotion,  but   *  the  minister,'  all  in 
black,  was  a  terrible  bug-bear !     We  used  to  regard  him,, 
as  '  an  officer  of  the  divine  law,'  in  much  the  same  light 
in  which  police-officers  are  viewed  by  the  suspicious  delin 
quent.     But  Parson  W-     -  is  gone;  and  we  cannot  but 
felicitate  ourself,  for  one,  that  we  4  did  what  was  right '  in 
our  attendance  upon  his  ministrations.     How  many  hun 
dreds  of  times,  wrapped  up  in  sweet-scented  hay,  in  the 
bottom  of  a  sleigh,  did  we  ride  through  the  howling  win 
ter  storm,  to  sit  in  that  old  church,  with  nothing  but  the 
maternal  foot-stove  and  the  prevalent  '  fire  of  devotion '  to 
keep  us  from   perishing ;    yea,  even  to  the  division  '  six- 
teenthly,'  and  the  'improving'  'Hence  we  learn,  in  view 
of  our  subject,  in  the  next  and  last  place,'  etc.     In  sum 
mer  there  was  a  pail  of  water  with  a  tin-porringer  by  the 


DEATH    OF    A    GOOD    MAN.  109 

door ;  so  that  we  could  quench  any  thirst  that  might  arise 
4  from  the  heat  of  the  weather  or  the  drought  of  the  dis 
course  ;'  but  winter-service,  and  rehearsals  in  that  compre 
hensive  body  of  divinity,  the  4  Westminister  Shorter  Cate 
chism,  (4  Shorter  catechism,'  and  '  nothin'  shorter  ! ')  these 
were  too  much  !  There  was  relief  onlv  in  eatinf  our  Sun- 

« 

day  '  turn-overs  '  and  nut-cakes-and-cheese  at  the  neighbors' 
at  noon-times,  with  faces  glowing  before  the  high-piled 
wood  fires.  Also  it  was  extremely  pleasant  to  go  home 
with  the  prettiest  girls  from  the  evening  conference-meet 
ings  held  at  the  school-house.  Ah,  well-a-day  !  we  see  in 
the  notes  to  this  discourse  the  names  given,  and  the  tri 
umphant  deaths  recorded,  of  those  who  were  once  near  and 
dear  to  us  ;  and  chief  among  them,  that  near  relative, 
whose  silver  hair  and  mild  benevolent  blue  eyes  are  before 
us  of  yore.  He  it  was  who  was  wont  to  go  around  his 
pleasant  orchards,  full  of  all  manner  of  fruits,  and  select 
the  choicest  varieties  for  the  little  boys,  never  so  happy 
himself  as  when  engaged  in  making  others  so.  His  last 
end  was  peace.  A  little  while  before  his  death,  he  called 
his  son  to  his  bedside,  to  write  down  his  last  request. 
4  Bring  your  table  close  to  the  bed,'  said  he  ;  'I  want  to 
see  you  write.'  This  was  done:  '  Xow  father,'  said  his 
son,  *  what  shall  I  write  ? '  *  Writo,'  said  he,  '  this  my  last 
will  and  testament  :  I  will  myself  and  my  dear  children, 
and  my  grandchildren  and  their  posterity,  to  GOD  the  FA- 


110  DEATH    OF    A    GOOD    MAN. 

THER,  SON  and  HOLY  SPIRIT,  through  time,  praying  that 
the  blessing  of  GOD  may  rest  upon  them.  Now  lift  me 
up,  and  let  me  sign  that.'  He  was  raised,  and  his  hand 
trembling  with  age  was  guided  as  he  wrote  for  the  last 
time  his  own  name.  As  he  lay  down,  he  said,  *  My  work 
is  now  done,  and  I  am  ready  to  go  home.  My  way  is 
clear.  I  know  where  I  am  going.'  A  little  while  after 
this,  as  the  sun  was  going  down,  at  his  request  he  was 
raised  up  in  bed  :  '  All  seems  natural  out  there,'  said  he, 
looking  out  upon  his  beautiful  acres;  'just  as  it  used  to 
look.  It  is  very  pleasant;  but  I  care  nothing  for  it  now  ; 
I  am  going,'  said  he,  pointing  toward  heaven,  *  I  am  going 
up  there  —  I  am  going  home ! '  And  a  little  while  after, 
the  good  man  fell  asleep  in  JESUS. 


NUMBER    FIVE. 

A.  FRENCHMAN  DISCOMFITED  :  AX  AGREEABLE  DISAPPOINTMENT  '.  -WEATHER 
'  COMPLAINAVre '  :  GEOGRAPHICAL  DISORDERS  :  'PURSUIT  OF  KNOWLEDGE 
VNDER  DIFFICULTIES '  :  SPORTING  A  NEW  LANGUAGE  I  DEATI1  IX  TIIE 

8CHOOL-P.OOM :    CONUNDRUM  — 'FORCED     CONSTRUCTION':     A    CENTURY  — 

TIIE  PAST  AND  PRESENT  :  A  DUBIOUS  DINNER  !  TRANSPOSED  '  CAUSE  AND 
EFFECT '  :  A  BOOK-SELLER  AT  CAMP-MEETING  :  TRUE  VALUE  OF  MONEY  — 

'NOTE- LIFTING1:  TIIE  CATCHER  CAUGHT  — AN  AUTHENTIC  RECORD:  SEE 
ING  OURSELVES  AS  OTHERS  SEE  US  :  JARVIS  AND  THE  FRENCHMAN  ! 
AUTUMNAL  FAREWELL  TO  DOBB'S  FERRY. 

OUR  present  theme  is  certainly  a  not  very  savory  subject ; 
but  the  untimely  misfortune  described  in  such  unminc- 
ing  Anglo  Saxon  by  a  correspondent,  tempts  us  to  record 
a  similar  accident  which  we  recently  heard  depicted  by  a 
friend,  a  French  gentleman,  whose  unostentatious  but  prince 
ly  hospitality  adds  (what  one  could  hardly  deem  possible) 
even  a  new  charm  and  grace  to  the  lovely  banks  of  the  St. 
Lawrence,  along  the  most  delightful  reach  of  that  resplen 
dent  stream.  *  It  ees  twanty  year,'  said  he,  '  since  zat  I 
was  in  Xew-Yo'k ;  and  I  go  up  one  night  in  z'  upper  part 
de  cite,  ('t  was  'most  in  de  contree,)  to  see  a  fraande.  Ah  ! 
oui !  Wen  I  com'  by  de  door-yard,  I  see  som'sing  —  I 
not  know  what  he  ees,  but  I  bought  he  was  leetil  rabeet ; 


112     AN    AGREEABLE    DISAPPOINTMENT. 

but  he  was  ver'  tame.  I  go  up  sof'ly  to  heem  :  '  Ah,  ha  ! ' 
I  say  to  myself,  '  I  'av'  gots  you  ! '  So  I  strike  him  big 
stroke  vis  my  ombrel  on  his  necks.  Ah,  ha  !  sup'pose 
w'at  he  do  ?  B-a-a-h  !  !  !  He  strike  me  back  in  my  face 

wis  his Damn  !    I  cannot  tell :  it    was  awfuh ! 

DREADFULS  !  He  s-m-e-1-1  so  you  cannot  touch  him  —  and 
I  de  saame  !  I  s'row  myself  in  de  pond,  up  to  my  necks  ; 
but  it  make  no  use.  I  s-m-e-1-1  seex  wee-eek  !  I  not  like  go 
in  ze  room  wis  my  fraande.  I  dig  big  hole  to  put  my 
clo'es  in  de  grounde :  it  not  cure  zem !  I  dig  zem  up : 
Dah !  —  it  is  de  saame  !  I  put  zem  back  —  and  dey  smell 
one  year ;  till  zey  rot  in  de  ground.  It  ees  faact ! 
And  so  it  ivas  a  fact ;  for  no  man  born  of  woman  could 
ever  counterfeit  the  fervor  of  disgust  which  distinguished 
the  graphic  delineation  of  that  sad  mishap. 


WE  heard  a  pleasant  illustration,  an  evening  or  two 
ago,  of  a  peculiarity  of  western  life.  A  man  in  one  of 
the  hotels  of  a  south-western  city  was  observed  by  a  north 
erner  to  be  very  moody,  and  to  regard  the  stranger  with 
looks  particularly  sad,  and  as  our  informant  thought,  some 
what  savage.  By-and-by  he  approached  him,  and  said : 
•  Can  I  see  you  outside  the  door  for  a  few  minutes  ? ' 
'  Certainly,  Sir,'  said  the  northerner,  but  not  without  some 
misgivings.  The  moment  the  door  had  closed  behind 


WEATHER    'COMPLAINANTS.'  113 

them,  the  moody  man  reached  over  his  hand  between  his 
shoulders  and  drew  from  a  pocket  a  tremendous  bowie- 
knife,  bigger  than  a  French  carver,  and  as  its  broad  blade 
flashed  in  the  moon-light,  the  stranger  thought  his  time 
had  come.  '  Put  up  your  scythe,'  said  he,  *  and  tell  me 
what  I  Ve  done  to  provoke  your  hostility  \ '  '  Done, 
stranger  \  —  you  have  n't  done  any  thing.  Xor  I  ha  n't 
any  hostility  to  you ;  but  I  want  to  pawn  this  knife  with 
you.  It  cost  me  twenty  dollars  in  Xew-Orlearjs.  I  lost 
my  whole  'pile'  at  'old  sledge'  coming  down  the  river, 
and  I  ha  n't  got  a  red  cent.  Lend  me  ten  dollars  on  it, 
stranger.  I'll  win  it  back  for  you  in  less  than  an  hour.' 
The  money  was  loaned ;  and  sure  enough,  in  less  than  the 
time  mentioned  the  knife  was  redeemed,  and  the  incorri 
gible  '  sporting-man '  had  a  surplus  of  some  thirty  dollars, 
which  he  probably  lost  the  very  next  hour. 


'WHAT  a  perfectly  horrible  day  this  is!'  says  your 
complaining,  querulous  citizen,  as  he  wipes  the  perspira 
tion  from  his  glowing  face;  ;I  detest  such  weather!' 
Dear  Sir,  you  should  n't  say  so ;  the  rivers  of  water  which 
run  down  your  body  are  in  obedience  to  a  law  of  nature 
that  preserves  your  health.  Moreover,  the  heat  of  which 
you  complain  is  ripening  the  '  kindly  fruits  of  the  earth, 
so  that  in  due  time  we  may  enjoy  them.'  Nature  is  get- 


114          GEOGRAPHICAL    DISORDERS. 

ting  ready  to  publish  her  '  cereals,'  and  her  timely  heat  is 
swelling  into  pulpy  lusciousness  the  great  clusters  of  Isa 
bella-grapes,  wliich  shut  in  the  parlor-piazza,  darken  the 
windows  of  our  sleeping-room  in  the  second  story,  screen 
those  of  the  nursery  in  the  third  from  the  sun,  and  actu 
ally  hang,  in  all  forms  of  grace,  from  the  very  eaves ! 
Also  the  vari-colored  pinks,  verbenas,  heliotropes,  dahlias, 
and  a  large  family  of  nameless  flowers,  are  shedding  their 
beautiful  hues  and  perfume  between  the  '  house-vine '  and 
the  '  back-vine,'  which  creeps  over  its  broad  trellice,  and 
suspends  there,  in  long  pendulous  '  bunches,'  its  rich 
abundance  of  fruit.  Yes ;  and  every  day  as  we  look  out 
at  these  things,  we  see  the  green  ivy  visibly  growing  over 
the  pinnacles  of  the  towers  of  our  '  Church  of  St.  PETER 
in  the  rear — a  beautiful  and  graceful  sight. 

P.  S.  It  is  a  pretty  hot  day,  though,  '  that's  a  fact.' 
Must  go  and  take  a  '  shower'  in  the  adjoining  bath-room. 
Pheugh !  This  kind  of  heat  can't  ripen  any  thing,  un 
less  a  '  blast-furnace '  will  do  the  same  thing.  It  is  '  hor 
rible  '  hot  weather ! 


WE  remarked  a  very  laughable  typographical  error  in 
a  newspaper  a  day  or  two  since.  It  was  in  a  paragraph 
which  announced  that  a  formerly  distinguished  southern 
politician  had  been  struck  with  apoplexy,  and  had  *  lost 
the  use  of  one  side  of  his  speech  /'  It  reminded  us  of  the 


PURSUIT    OF    KNOWLEDGE.  115 

man  who,  having  stood  in  the  same  place  in  a  cotton  fac 
tory  for  many  years,  was  one  day  detained  by  illness,  and 
wrote  to  his  employer  that  he  should  be  unable  to  resume 
his  labor,  as  he  had  a  painful  swelling  on  the  east  side  of 
his  face ! 


NOTHING  is  more  characteristic  of  your  true  French 
man  than  his  irrepressible  curiosity,  which  he  will  often 
gratify  at  the  expense  of  danger,  and  sometimes  at  the 
risk  of  his  life.  In  matters  of  science,  by  the  way,  this 
peculiarity  of  the  *  grand  nation'  has  been  of  great  service 
to  mankind.  A  friend  relates  a  story  pleasantly  illustra 
tive  of  this  insatiable  national  impulse.  A  young  Parisian 
lawyer,  accustomed  only  to  French  breakfasts,  arrived  in 
the  morning  at  Dover  on  his  way  to  London,  was  surprised 
to  find  a  robust  JOHN  BULL  seated  at  a  small  side-table, 
loaded  with  meats  and  their  accompaniments.  He  sur 
veyed  him  attentively  for  a  moment  or  two,  and  then  be 
gan  to  soliloquize  in  an  '  undress  rehearsal '  of  the  sparse 
English  at  his  command :  '  Mon  DIEU  ! '  said  he,  '  can  it 
be  posseeble  zat  cet  gentil-homme  is  etc  hees  brekfastef 
Nevare  minds  :  I  shall,  I  sink  I  shall  ask  heem.  '  Mon 
sieur  !  I  am  stranger.  Vill  you  av  ze  politesse  to  tell  me 
wezzer  zat  is  your  brekfaste  or  your  dinua  wat  you  eat?" 
JOHN  rises  with  indignation,  his  cheeks  distended  with  a 
large  portion  of  his  substantial  meal,  and  is  about  to  resent 


116  PURSUIT    OF    KNOWLEDGE. 

what  he  deems  an  affront ;  but  discretion  gets  the  better  of 
valor,  and  lie  sits  down  again  to  resume  his  meal.  The 
Frenchman  paces  the  floor  dubiously  for  some  minutes, 
until  his  enhanced  curiosity  overcomes  his  temporary 
timidity,  when  he  again  accosts  the  sharp-set  son  of  '  per- 
fidious  Albion : '  '  Sare,  if  you  knew  de  reezon  wherefor'  I 
rek-quire  for  know  wezzer  zat  is  your  brekfaste  or  your 
dinna  wat  you  etc,  you  would  'av  ze  politesse  to  tell  me 
immediate,  and  sans  offence.'  JOHN  was  silent,  as  before, 
but  his  face  actually  glowed  with  excitement  and  sup 
pressed  passion.  All  these  evidences  of  displeasure  how 
ever  were  lost  upon  the  curious  traveller,  who  once  more 
addressed  his  '  unwilling  witness,'  and  this  time  fairly 
brought  him  to  the  use  of  his  speech ;  for  he  rose  in  great 
anger,  accused  the  Frenchman  of  having  insulted  him  ;  a 
blow  followed,  and  a  duel  was  the  '  net  purport  and  up 
shot'  of  the  affair.  Had  the  Frenchman's  curiosity  been 
satisfied,  he  would  doubtless  have  been  more  steady-hand 
ed  :  'but  Destiny  had  willed  it  otherwise.'  BULL'S  bullet 
pierced  him,  and  the  wound  was  decided  to  be  mortal. 
Englishmen  are  seldom  ill-tempered  upon  a  full  stomach : 
our  hero  relented  ;  he  was  filled  with  remorse  at  having 
shot  the  poor  fellow  on  so  slight  a  provocation,  and  was 
most  anxious  to  make  amends  for  his  fault.  '  My  friend,' 
said  he  to  the  dying  man,  '  it  grieves  me  much  that  I 
should  have  been  so  rash  as  to  lose  my  temper  in  so  tri- 


SPOUTING    A     NEW    LANGUAGE.         117 

fling  a  matter ;  and  if  there  is  any  "way  in  which  I  can 
serye  you,  rest  assured  you  have  only  to  name  it,  and  I 
will  faithfully  perform  your  last  request.'  '  Vill  you,  my 
fren'?  Zen,'  said  his  victim,  writhing  in  the  agonies  of 
death,  *  if  you  will  be  so  kind  as  tell  me  wczzer  zat  ivas 
your  brelcfaste  or  your  dinna  wat  you  ete,  I  shall  die  rer1 
mosh  content!1 


SPEAKING  of  Frenchmen  :  A  friend  of  ours  records 
one  out  of  a  thousand  instances,  of  daily  occurrence  : 
1  Come  here,  Gas-son1  said  a  young  fopling,  at  one  of  our 
metropolitan  eating-houses.  A  waiter  presented  himself. 
*  Your  name  is  n't  Gas-son,  is  it,  Stupid  \  I  called  '  Gas- 
son1  yonder' — and  he  beckoned  to  a  lad,  whom  he  had 
heard  called  garcon,  the  day  before,  to  do  his  bidding ! 
We  have  often  laughed  at  the  story  of  a  person  of  pleas 
ing  address  and  appearance,  who  was  encountered  on  board 
a  steam-packet  from  Dover  to  Calais.  It  was  observed, 
that  whenever  he  obtained  an  auditor,  he  would  address 
him  courteously,  and  commence  a  discussion  of  the  quali 
ties  of  two  carriages  which  were  on  the  forward  deck. 
4 That 'ere  big  coach,' said  he,  'is  a  nice  'tin  ;  but  them 
'ere  scratahes  on  the  cab,  them's  the  vorst  on't,  though  ! ' 
A  gentleman  who  heard  these  coarse  remarks  thrice  re 
peated  to  different  individuals  by  a  person  of  pleasing  and 
gentlemanlike  exterior,  had  the  curiosity  to  inquire  of  one 


118       DEATH    IN    THE    SCHOOL  - 


who  seemed  to  be  a  companion  voyager,  why  it  should 
happen  that  his  language  was  so  strangely  out  of  keeping 
with  his  general  bearing  ;  when  lo  !  it  transpired  that  he 
was  a  Parisian,  sporting  the  little  English  he  had  learned 
of  a  cockney  valet,  in  a  brief  stay  in  London,  before  his 
countrymen.  Many  an  'ignorant  ramus'  on  this  side  the 
water  makes  himself  equally  ridiculous,  in  misapplying 
and  mispronouncing  the  language  of  this  ambitious  Gaul  ; 
speaking  it  like  the  man  whom  MATTHEWS  describes,  who 
boasted  of  his  perfection  in  French,  but  gave  the  credit  to 
its  felicitous  acquisition  ;  he  *  1'arnt  it  of  a  Garman,  that 
1'arnt  it  of  a  Scotchman  at  Dunkirk  !  ' 


OH  Heavens  !  how  many  bereaved  hearts  are  bleeding 
at  this  very  hour  in  this  city  :  hearts  made  desolate  in  a 
single  moment !  Fifty  children,  studying  at  one  instant 
in  the  hushed  school-room,  and  the  next  in  eternity !  Sit 
ting  here  to-night,  with  our  dear  ones  about  us,  we  shud 
der  with  horror  while  we  glow  with  gratitude  to  the  be 
nevolent  BEING  who  has  '  preserved  them  hitherto.'  What 
a  sad  scene  will  be  the  school-room  where  these  departed 
sufferers  were  wont  daily  to  meet !  Their  fellow-pupils 
and  play-mates  will  sing,  in  words  that  'Young  KNICK.* 
has  just  been  repeating  to  his  little  sister  : 

'  On  where,  tell  me  where  have  the  little  children  gone  ? 
Oh  where,  tell  me  where  have  the  little  children  gone  ? 


'FORCED    CONSTRUCTION.'  119 

They  once  were  sitting  here  with  us, 

They  sang  and  spoke  and  smiled, 
And  they  loved  to  meet  us  thus, 

But  they  've  left  us  now,  my  child. 

Oh  where,  tell  me  where  have  the  little  children  gone  ? 
Oh  where,  tell  me  where  have  the  little  children  gone? 
I  seem  to  see  their  sparkling  eyes, 

I  seem  to  hear  their  song; 
But  we'll  never  see  them  more 
In  the  school  where  we  belong ! ' 


BEARD,  the  distinguished  western  artist,  mentions  the 
delivery  of  a  conundrum  which  he  once  heard  in  this  state. 
A  tall,  red-haired,  '  serio-dubious '  sort  of  over-grown  boy, 
who  was  '  designed  for  the  ministry,'  and  had  just  obtained 
his  '  parchment '  from  an  eastern  college,  was  called  upon, 
at  a  parting  supper,  to  '  make  a  speech.'  He  excused  him 
self  by  saying,  '  I  dont  know  any  speech  that  I  can  say 
neow.'  He  was  asked  for  a  song.  'Xo,  he  never  could 
sing ;  feound  that  out  when  he  first  went  to  singin'-school.' 
However,  being  hard  pressed  for  '  something,'  he  said,  look 
ing  at  and  twisting  bashfully  his  long  freckled  fingers,  '  I 
can  tell  a  conundrum  that  I  made  myself  last  week.  It 
come  to  me  first  one  night  when  I  was  abed,  and  I  made 
it  out  next  day,  and  wrote  it  down  on  a  piece  of  paper.  I 
got  it  here  neow.'  So  saying,  he  took  from  his  waistcoat- 
pocket  a  slip  of  paper,  and  read :  *  What  village  in  'York 
State  is  the  same  name  as  the  Promised  Land  \ '  There 


120  'FORCED    CONSTRUCTION.' 

was  some  '  guessing,'  but  at  last  it  was  '  given  up,'  and  a 
'  solution  requested  : '  '  Canandaigua  ! '  at  length  ex 
pounded  the  proposer.  But  the  company  were  still  as 
much  in  the  dark  as  ever  :  '  Canandaigua  ! '  exclaimed  a 
dozen  in  a  breath  ;  *  why  —  how  —  where  is  there  any  re 
semblance  to  the  'Promised  Land?'  'Can't  see  the 
slightest.'  'Why,  you  see,'  said  the  conundrum-maker, 
'  this  is  the  way  on  't :  yeou  must  divide  the  word,  and  in 
stead  of  Can-mi  you  must  say  '  (7a-nan,'  and  throw  the 
'  daigua '  away  !  Canaan  was  the  '  Promised  Land,'  see  ! ' 
A  resistless  and  united  guffaw  followed  this  *  forced  con 
struction,'  which  the  expounder  mistook  for  admiration. 
'  Aint  it  a  fu'st-rate  conundrum  ? '  said  he,  with  a  visible 
chuckle,  that  only  increased  the  obstreperous  cachinnation. 
We  should  n't  like  to  look  at  so  bright  an  intellectual  lu 
minary  as  this,  except  through  a  piece  of  smoked  glass. 


IT  may  be,  nay  doubtless  it  is,  a  morbid  feeling  which 
prompts  the  meditative  man  to  pause  and  look  up  at  the 
successive  stones  slowly  sinking  into  their  resting-places  in 
some  public  edifice  in  process  of  erection  :  thinking  the 
while  how  Ions;  those  inanimate  blocks  will  remain  there, 
and  how  many  will  gaze  up  at  them  when  the  present  be 
holder  is  mouldering  into  dust.  Such  have  often  been  our 
own  thoughts  in  looking  at  the  public  temples  which  have 
been  builded  in  this  city  within  the  last  fourteen  years. 


THE    PAST    AND    PRESENT.  121 

But  we  have  been  thinking  to-day  how  (could  we  but 
know  it)  the  fronts  of  our  earlier  edifices  would  be  found 
written  all  over  with  kindred  thoughts,  if  they  who  gazed 
at  them  could  have  left  the  impress  of  their  reflections  up 
on  the  stones  which  arrested  their  attention.  They  are 
gone :  yet  nature  is  as  gay,  the  sun  shines  as  bright,  men 
are  as  busy  in  getting  gain,  as  in  the  centuries  that  are 
past.  Ah  !  well  may  the  thoughtful  man  exclaim  : 

WHERE,  where  are  all  the  birds  that  sang 

A  hundred  years  ago  ? 
The  flowers  that  all  in  beauty  sprang 
A  hundred  years  ago  ? 
The  lips  that  smiled, 
The  eyes  that  wild 
In  flashes  shone 
Soft  eyes  upon  ; 

Where,  O  where  are  lips  and  eyes, 
The  maiden's  smiles,  the  lover's  sighs, 
That  lived  so  long  ago  ? 

'  Who  peopled  all  the  city  streets 

A  hundred  years  ago  ? 
Who  filled  the  church  with  faces  meek, 
A  hundred  years  ago  ? 
The  sneering  tale 
Of  sister  frail, 
The  plot  that  work'd 
A  brother's  hurt ; 

Where,  0  where  are  plots  and  sneers, 
The  poor  man's  hopes,  the  rich  man's  fears. 
That  lived  so  long  ago  9 


122  A    DUBIOUS    DINNER. 


'  WHAT  meat  is  this  ?'  said  a  country  farmer  the  other 
day,  to  a  legal  friend  who  had  invited  him  into  a  French 
restaurant  in  the  lower  part  of  the  city,  to  take  a  hasty 
dinner  with  him  ;  '  what  meat  is  it  ? '  '  It  's  beef,  I  think,' 
said  the  lawyer.  The  countryman  replied,  '  I  guess  not ; 
do  n't  taste  like  beef  to  me ; '  and  he  regarded  the  am 
phibious-looking  dish  before  him  with  thoughtful  solici 
tude.  At  the  next  mouthful,  he  laid  his  knife  and  fork 
down,  and  asked  with  eager  curiosity,  '  An't  this  a  French 
eatin'-house  ? '  'It  is,'  answered  the  lawyer.  ' Then  it  is 
dog  ! '  he  exclaimed,  removing  the  last  morsel  from  his 
mouth,  as  a  sailor  relieves  his  jaws  of  a  tobacco-quid  ;  '  it  is 
dog,  and  I  thought  it  was  !  I  et  dog  once  at  'Swago,  (Oswe- 
go)  in  the  last  war,  and  I  know  what  it  is.'  And  although 
it  was  an  excellent  restaurant  at  which  they  were  dining, 
so  great  was  his  prejudice  against  the  French  cuisine,  that 
he  could  not  be  persuaded  to  taste  another  morsel.  When 
they  were  walking  home  he  said  to  his  friend  :  '  My  neigh 
bor  JONES  was  down  to  'York  once,  and  being  very  fond 
o'  sassengers,  he  went  into  an  eatin'-shop  to  get  some. 
While  he  was  a-hearin'  of  'em  fry,  hissin'  and  sputterin' 
away,  a  man  was  buy  in'  some  of  'em  raw  at  the  counter, 
and  while  he  was  a-tyin'  of  'em  up,  a  chap  come  in  with  a 
fuz-cap  and  a  dirty  drab  '  sustoot,'  and  laid  down  a  little 
bundle  at  the  fur-eend  o'  the  counter,  He  looked  at  the 


TRANSPOSED   'CAUSE  AND   EFFECT.'    123 

keeper,  and  see  he  was  a  little  busy  ;  so  he  said,  lookin' 
shy  at  him  as  he  went  out,  says  he,  '  'Ta'nt  no  matter 
about  the  money  now,  but  that  makes  eleven?  p'intin'  to 
ward  the  bundle.  JOXES  looked  at  the  bundle,  and  he 
says  he  see  the  head  of  a  cat  stickin'  out  at  the  eend,  with 
long  smellers  onto  it  as  long  as  his  finger  \  He  left  that 
shop  'mazin  quick,  and  han't  never  eat  a  sassenger  sence  ! ' 


MOST  pei-sons  have  heard,  perhaps,  of  the  direction 
given  by  a  gawk  to  a  traveller :  'You  go  down  this  road, 
till  you  come  to  Squire  JOXES'  house,  which  always  stands 
by  a  little  yaller  dog.'  An  amusing  continental  traveller, 
(who  was  so  'indifferent'  to  natural  scenery  that  he  rode 
around  the  lake  of  Geneva  in  a  char-d-banc,  with  his  back 
to  the  lake.)  adopts  a  similar  transposition.  He  tells  us 
that  the  German  universities  are  'always  placed  at  the 
seats  of  celebrated  beer  ! '  The  French  traveller  in  Scotland, 
who  reported  that  at  every  village  they  kept  relays  of  dogs 
to  bark  the  feeble  coach-horses  on  toward  the  next  one, 
did  not  awaken  more  ludicrous  associations. 


OUR  friend  BURGESS,  of  the  well-known  house  of  BUR 
GESS,  STRINGER  AND  COMPANY,  tells  a  capital  anecdote  of 
himself,  which  should  not  be  altogether  privately  '  hushed 


124    A    BOOKSELLER    AT    CAMP-MEETING. 

up.'  He  is  a  member  of  the  Methodist  Church  ;  and  being 
at  a  camp-meeting  near  Sing-Sing,  last  summer,  he  had 
the  misfortune,  after  two  or  three  days'  and  nights'  attend 
ance,  to  fall  asleep  in  the  midst  of  a  powerful  sermon.  It 
was  just  after  the  New- York  Trade-Sale  of  books,  and  Mr. 
BURGESS  was  dreaming  thereof:  and  to  the  searching 
questionings  of  the  speaker,  '  Will  you  any  longer  delay  ?  — 
will  you  not  choose  to-day  whom  you  are  to  serve  ? — what 
course  you  are  to  take?'  '•Take  the  lot! — the  balance 
to  Burgess,  Stringer  and  Company  ! '  exclaimed  BURGESS 
eagerly,  as  he  awoke,  and  stared  wildly  around  him,  when 
he  saw  every  body  staring  still  more  wildly  at  him,  and 
the  minister  himself  petrified  with  amazement ! 


THE  '  competence'  of  the  tiller  of  the  soil,  the  '  abun 
dance'  of  the  successful  mechanic,  and  the  '  sufficiency '  of 
the  tradesman,  we  conceive  to  be  better  calculated  to  pro 
mote  happiness  than  '  great  wealth,'  even  when  unencum 
bered.  We  are  not  insensible  to  the  value  of  money.  Our 
remark  was  pointed  as  to  the  wants  that  wealth  brings ; 
but  the  cares  of  it  are  not  less  exacting.  '  Do  n't  you 
know  me  ? '  said  a  western  millionaire,  soon  after  '  the  cri 
sis,'  to  a  friend  of  ours,  with  whom  he  had  formerly  been 
intimately  acquainted  ;  '  do  n't  you  remember  me  ?  My 
name  js .'  '  Good  heavens !  it  can't  be  possible !'  ex- 


T  R  U  E      V  A  L  I  E      OF      M  O  N  El*.  1  xi5 

claimed  our  friend ;  '  why,  what  has  wrought  such  a 
change  in  your  appearance?  Where's  your  flourishing 
head  of  hair  ?  where  's  your  flesh  gone  ?  what 's  put  that 
bend  in  your  back  \ '  '  The  times  !  the  times  I '  replied  the 
'poor  rich  man  ; '  'as  for  my  back,  I  broke  that  last  year, 
lifting  notes  ;  some  of  them  were  very  heavy.'  A  griev 
ous  and  unnecessary  burden  no  doubt  they  were  ;  and  how 
much  better  was  the  rich  man's  '  wealth,'  with  its  carking 
cares,  than  the  '  abundance'  of  the  contented  mechanic  ? 


THE  following  amusing  adventure,  given  by  a  corre 
spondent  writing  from  Buffalo,  actually  took  place  in  the 

town  of  M ,  in  Ohio,  two  years  ago.     '  Farmer 

had  two  daughters,  very  interesting  young  ladies,  yet  in 
their  teens,  who  were  quite  romantic  in  their  notions.  The 
father  was  an  aristocratic  member  of  the  Baptist  church, 
and  of  course  was  very  particular  as  to  the  '  company '  his 
girls  should  'keep.'  Xow  it  happened  that  these  two 
pretty  girls  became  acquainted  with  a  couple  of  young 
bucks,  clerks  in  an  adjoining  village,  and,  to  use  a  common 
phrase,  '  took  quite  a  shyin'  to  'em.'  To  this  the  old  gen 
tleman  was  very  much  opposed,  as  he  intended  to  match 
his  daughters  himself.  But  "t  was  no  use'  talking  to 
them  ;  while  week  after  week  wore  away,  and  found  the 
young  men  constant  visitors.  At  length,  in  order  to  en- 


126  THE     CATCHER     CAUGHT. 

force  obedience,  the  old  man  found  himself  driven  to  the 
necessity  of  locking  up  the  foolish  children  who  had  pre 
sumed  without  his  consent  to  fall  in  love  with  a  couple  oi 
poor  tradesmen.  The  sweet  girls  were  accordingly  con 
fined  on  Sunday  afternoons  in  the  back  bed-room  in  the 
second  story,  which  fronted  the  barn-yard ;  a  very  roman 
tic  '  look-out.'  Under  the  window  was  a  pile  of  stones, 
which  had  been  left  after  repairing  the  cellar-wall  in  that 
corner.  For  two  or  three  successive  Sabbath  evenings,  the 
usual  period  of  visiting  their  inamoratas,  the  lovers  had 
climbed,  by  means  of  the  sheets  of  the  bed,  which  were  let 
down  from  the  window  by  the  heroic  girls,  up  to  the 
apartment  of  their  imprisoned  lovers,  and  from  nightfall 
until  rosy  morning  did  revel  in  the  'ambrosial  delight  of 
love's  young  dreams.'  But  this  clandestine  courtship 
could  not  be  continued  without  being  at  last  discovered. 
One  lovely  Sabbath,  just  at  twilight,  the  father,  coming  in 
from  the  barn,  thought  he  saw  something  rather  ominous 
hanging  out  of  the  back-window  ;  so  he  walked  noiselessly 
around  to  ascertain  the  '  nature '  of  it.  There  hung  the 
fatal  '  flag  of  surrender ; '  and  the  old  man,  giving  it  a 
slight  jerk,  commenced  the  ascent.  He  was  lifted  gently 
from  off  his  feet,  and  felt  himself  gradually  '  rising  in  the 
world.'  'T  was  a  very  heavy  weight,  the  daughters 
thought;  and  to  tell  the  truth,  it  was  a  corpulent  'body- 
corporate  '  at  which  they  were  hopefully  tugging  away. 


SEEING     OURSELVES.  127 

But  lo !  his  head  had  reached  the  window-sill ;  and  now, 
just  as  his  old  white  hat  appeared  above  the  window,  his 
affectionate  daughters  *  dropped  him  like  a  hot  potato;' 
and,  with  something  like  the  '  emphasis  of  a  squashed 
apple-dumpling,'  the  old  man  came  in  instant  contact  with 
mother  Earth  ;  while  the  two  knights  of  tape-and-scissors, 
who  were  not  far  off,  enjoying  the  scene,  *  made  hasty 
tracks  from  the  settlement,'  leaving  nothing  behind  them 
but  bodily  misery,  horror-stricken  damsels,  and  their  own 
coat-tails  streaming  on  the  cool  night-air ! ' 


A  FOG  lay  over  the  broad  expanse  of  the  Tappaan- 
Zee,  at  DOBB  his  Ferry,  the  other  morning.  There  is  a 
small  but  very  long-eared  donkey  at  that  place,  the  Buce 
phalus  of  a  juvenile  play-mate  of  ;  Young  KXICK.,'  whom 
also  our  scion  backs  whenever  so  minded.  The  little  ani 
mal  is  very  strong,  and  '  carries  weight  for  age  ; '  so  we 
mounted  him,  on  the  foggy  morning  aforesaid,  and  rode  to 
the  water's  edge,  looking  into  the  mist,  which  hid  the  far 
ther  shore  from  sight.  Sir  JOSHUA  REYNOLDS,  in  one  of 
his  lectures,  says  that  the  horizon-line  of  the 'great  and 
wide  sea,'  in  mid-deep,  is  one  of  the  most  striking  emblems 
of  the  infinite  and  the  eternal  to  be  found  in  all  the  works 
of  the  ALMIGHTY.  AVe  thought  of  this  while  lookino-  off 

C*  O 

npon  the  dim  (and  at  the  time  boundless)  waste  of  waters 


128  SEEING    OURSELVES. 

before  us ;  and  then  came  the  thought  of  NAPOLEON  at 
Saint  Helena,  musing  by  the  solemn  shore  of  the  vast 
ocean  which  formed  the  watery  walls  of  his  island-prison  : 
and  so  strong  was  the  last  impression,  that,  mounted  as  we 
were,  we  began  to  feel,  in  that  moment  of  deep  reverie, 
that  we  were  NAPOLEON,  taking  our  equestrian  exercise  oi 
a  morning,  and  looking  off  upon  the  sea ;  when  all  at 
once,  an  unmistakable  juvenile  voice,  that  is  usually 
'  music  to  our  ears,'  '  let  down  the  peg '  that  held  up  our 
musings,  with  the  untimely,  and  we  may  add  uncalled-for 
remark,  accompanied  by  a  loud  laugh,  that  was  surely  un 
necessary  if  not  unbecoming  :  '  If  there  is  n't  FATHER  on 
DUNKEY  ! — how  he  looks  ! '  Our  imaginary  NAPOLEON 
vanished  as  quickly  at  this  interruption  as  did  HAMLET'S 
father's  ghost  when  he  '  smelt  the  morning  air  ; '  and  we 
*  saw  ourselves  as  others  saw  us  ; '  a  biped,  clad  in  a  thin 
linen  coat,  broad-brimmed  Rocky-mountain  fur  hat,  (a 
present  from  '  BELLACOSCA,'  now  of  that  ilk,)  seated  on  an 
ass,  and  a  little  one  at  that !  As  we  turned  him  to  go 
back,  having  '  satisfied  the  sentiment,'  his  saddle  turned 
too,  and  we  fell  to  the  ground,  a  distance,  perhaps,  from 
the  top  of  his  back,  of  some  three  feet.  No  bones  were 
broken ;  but  we  did  n't  like  the  report  of  the  unimportant 
circumstance  which  '  Young  KNICK.'  bore  to  his  mother : 
'  FATHER  got  threw  from  DUNKEY  ! '  '  Threw  ! ' —  that's  a 
good  style  of  grammar  to  be  used  by  the  son  of  an  EDITOR  \ 


JAR  vis    AND    THE    FRENCHMAN.        129 

All  this  may  seem  ridiculous  :  but  why  might  we  not  have 
fancied  ourself  NAPOLEON,  amidst  the  kindred  outward 
accessories  of  his  last  position  ?  Supposing  our  dress  and 
steed  were  not  warlike  \  Is  it  the  uniform  that  makes  the 
^captain  ?  If  it  is,  we  should  like  to  know  it ! 


WE  heard  the  other  afternoon,  from  a  proved  racon 
teur,  who  has  no  rival,  either  orally  or  with  pen  in  hand, 
a  story  of  JARVIS'S,  the  distinguished  painter,  which  made 
us  quite  *  elastic '  for  half  a  day.  A  mercurial  yet  misan 
thropic  Frenchman,  who,  to  '  save  himself  from  himself, 
used  often  to  call  upon  JARVIS,  had  an  '  Old  Master,'  a 
wretched  daub,  whose  greatest  merit  was  its  obscurity. 
Being  ignorant  of  the  hoax  which  had  been  played  upon 
him  in  its  purchase,  he  set  a  great  value  upon  it,  and  in 
vited  JARVIS  to  come  to  his  room  and  examine  it.  JARVIS 
did  so ;  and  to  prevent  giving  its  possessor  pain,  he  avoid 
ed  the  ^pression  of  an  opinion  '  upon  the  merits,'  but  ad 
vised  the  owner  to  have  it  cleaned  ;  it  being  '  so  dirty  that 
one  might  easily  mistake  it  for  a  very  ordinary  painting.' 
Some  four  or  five  days  afterward  the  Frenchman  called 
upon  the  painter ;  and  the  moment  he  entered  his  apart 
ment,  he  exclaimed :  '  Ah !  Monsieur  JARVEES,  I  'are 
some'sing  to  tell  you  !  My  graand  picture  is  des-troy' !  — 

no  wors'  a  d n  any  more !     I  get  ze  man  to  clean 

6* 


130       FAREWELL    TO    DOBB'S    FERRY. 

him  :  ver'  good ;  he  wash  him  all  out  wis  de  turpentirne ! 
Ah!  if  I  could  only  catch  him!  —  I  would  kick  him 
p-l-e-n-t-y  ! '  *  Heavens  ! '  exclaimed  JARVIS  ;  '  can  it  be 
possible  that  that  great  picture  is  spoiled?  You  must 
have  been  in  a  towering  passion  when  it  came  home  in^ 
that  condition.'  'No,  no,  Monsieur,'  replied  the  French 
man,  in  a  lachrymose,  pitful  tone  ;  '  I  am  not  strong  man 
to  be  angry  — I  was  s-i-c-k!  ' 


IT  is  one  of  those  warm,  low-cloudy,  fine-rainy  days  of 
late  October.  Young  KNICK,  an  hour  ago,  in  a  grassy 
ravine  of  a  hill-side  grove,  now  almost  bereft  of  its  sum 
mer  honors,  helped  us  to  brush  together  a  thick  bed  of 
faded  leaves ;  and,  on  that  fragrant  couch  we  have  been 
lying,  looking  off  through  the  thin  blue  drizzle  upon  the 
dying  woods  over  the  Tappaan  Zee,  and  the  patches  of 
fall-wheat,  of  matchless  green,  that  edge  them,  toward  the 
river.  Returning,  after  much  pleasant  chit-chat  With  the 
little  Junior,  we  find  a  pacquet  of  letters  and  communica 
tions  from  town  (to  which  we  did  not  repair  to-day)  upon 
our  table  ;  and  lo !  the  first  one  we  open  is  what  HALLECK 
terms 

'  A  HYMN  o'er  happy  days  departed 
A  hope  that  such  again  may  be.' 

Our  esteemed  correspondent  has  certainly  touched  us  at 


FAREWELL    TO    DOBB'S    FERRY.       131 

this  moment  in  a  tender  point.     He  expresses  our  senti 
ments  exactly : 

'  "Us  well  at  times  to  mope  and  sigh, 
If  one  can  give  good  reason  why ; 
E'en  change  of  scene  may  cause  (who  knows  ?) 
A  tear  to  trickle  down  one's  nose : 
I  grant  ye  it  is  weak  to  sob  — 

0,  very  \ 
Yet  must  I  weep  to  leave  dear  DOBB, 

His  Ferry  P 

'  October's  wailing  winds  are  here, 
Its  foliage  pied,  and  meadows  sere ; 
Gorgeous,  with  all  its  bravery  on, 
Crisping  with  frosty  breath  the  lawn, 
It  endeth  my  gay  summer  job, 

So  merry ; 
And  now  '  Good-bye  to  '  Mr.  DOBB, 

His  Ferry  '. ' ' 

4 1  shall  remember  well  its  shades, 
Its  CoxsTA>-T-dells  and  green  arcades, 
Where  murmuring  winds  on  summer  eves 
Made  music  in  the  trembling  leaves  ; 
Those  leaves,  beneath  whose  shade  the  cob- 

Bler-sherry 
Cemented  friendship's  chain  at '  DOBB, 

His  Ferry.' 

'And  now  I  stand  upon  the  wharf, 
"While  shoots  our  favorite  '  AEROW  '  off ; 
And  still  in  thought  behold  afar 
The  spot  where  my  fond  wishes  are ; 


132      FAREWELL    TO    DOBB'S    FERRY 

But  steamer,  stage,  nor  prancing  cob, 

Nor  wherry, 
May  bear  my  yearning  heart  to  '  DOBB, 

His  Ferry ! ' 

'  Tied  to  the  roaring  city's  wheel, 
Where  omnibii  their  thunders  peal ; 
Pent  up  mid  bounds  where  vice  is  nursed, 
Where  man  with  many  a  care  is  cursed, 
One  lives  amid  a  seething  mob, 

Half  terri- 
Fied  with  scenes  unknown  at '  DOBB, 

His  Ferry. 

'Shake,  shake  your  lazy  sands,  O  Time ! 
And  swiftly  bring  round  Summer's  prime ; 
Bring  its  glad  gales  to  waft  me  back, 
Up  the  broad  Hudson's  sparkling  track  1 
The  vision  makes  my  pulses  throb ; 

I  bury 

All  work-day  thoughts,  and  muse  on  'Doss, 
His  Ferry  ! ' ' 

Whoever  shall  visit  '  DOBB'S  '  the  ensuing  winter,  and 
the  pleasant  domicil  which  we  inhabited  there,  will  on  ex 
amination  find  pieces  of  '  Old  KNICK.'  sticking  to  the  door 
posts  ;  retained  there  in  the  disparting  struggle  of  the 
final  adieu. 


X  UMBER    SIX. 


THE  GENTLEMAN  IN  BLACK  I  THE  STABAT  MATER  .  CONUNDRUMS  —  A  PRACTI 
CAL  ONE  :  A  TRIBUTE  TO  ART  —  ELLIOTT  AND  INMAN  :  AN  'ORIGINAL': 
A  REVEREND  JEREMY  DIDDLER  I  A  MORNING  LOCOMOTIVE  IN  THE  METRO 
POLIS  I  AN  'UNFORTUNATE  MEMORY  ':  INFLUENZAL  POETRY:  A  PROFANE 
SWEARER  NONPLUSSED:  A  TWO-EDGED  COMPLIMENT:  A  MAN  OF  THE 
WORLD'S  ADVICE:  SENATORIAL  BON-MOT:  A  MUSICAL  ENTHUSIAST:  GOD 
IN  NATURE  —  A  COMET:  '  WHAT'S  THE  LAW?'  —  AN  ANECDOTE. 


TE  derive  the  following  capital  anecdote  from  an  es 
teemed  friend  who  '  was  there,'  and  who  never  yet 
permitted  a  good  tiling  to  escape  his  observant  eye.  A  stage 
coach  well  freighted  with  passengers,  was  once  travelling 
from  London  to  York.  Among  those  on  the  outside  was  a 
dry-looking  gentleman  in  rusty  black,  and  very  taciturn. 
According  to  custom,  he  soon  got  a  travelling-name  from 
his  dress ;  and  from  some  accidental  whim,  the  passengers 
seemed  to  take  a  pleasure  in  playing  upon  it.  Whenever 
they  stopped,  there  would  casual  questions  be  asked 
*  Where's  the  Gentleman  in  Black  ? '  '  Won't  the  Gentle 
man  in  Black  come  by  the  fire  ? '  '  Perhaps  the  Gentleman 
in  Black  would  like  a  bit  of  the  mutton  ? '  In  short,  the 
Gentleman  in  Black  became  a  personage  of  consequence, 


134         THE     G-ENTLEMAN    IN    BLACK. 

in  spite  of  his  taciturnity.  At  length,  in  the  middle  of  the 
night,  crash  !  went  the  coach,  and  the  unlucky  '  outsides ' 
were  sent  headlong  into  the  ditch.  There  was  a  world  of 
work  in  repairing  damages,  and  gathering  together  the 
limping  passengers.  Just  as  they  were  about  setting  off, 
the  coachman  was  attracted  by  a  voice  from  a  ditch,  where 
he  found  some  one,  white  as  a  miller  from  rolling^  down  a 
chalky  bank.  The  Unknown  prayed  in  piteous  voice  for 
assistance.  '  Why  who  the  deuce  are  you  ? '  cried  coach  ee. 
*  Alas  ! '  replied  the  other,  in  a  tone  half- whimsical,  half- 
plaintive,  '  I'm  the  Gentleman  in  Black  ! ' 


ARE  not  these  lines  from  the  *  Stabat  Mater '  felici 
tously  translated  ?  We  have  the  poem  entire,  but  segre 
gate  only  the  two  stanzas  which  ensue  : 

STABAT  mater  dolorosa, 
Juxta  crucem  lacrymosa, 

Dum  pendebat  filius : 
Cujus  animam  gementem, 
Contristantem  et  dolentem 

Pertransivit  gladius. 

O  quam  tristis  et  afflicta 
Fuit  iDa  benedjcta, 
Mater  unigeniti : 
Quse  moerebat,  et  dolebat, 
Et  tremebat ;  cum  videbat 
Nati  pcenas  inclyti. 

Although  nothing  could  exceed  the  simple  beauty  of 


A    PRACTICAL    CONUNDRUM.  135 

the  original,  yet  the  reader  will  be  struck  with  the  true 
spirit  of  the  rendering : 

!N"EAR  the  cross  the  MOTHER  weeping 
Stood,  her  watch  in  sorrow  keeping 

While  was  hanging  there  her  Sox  : 
Through  her  soul  in  anguish  groaning, 
O  most  sad,  IIis  fate  bemoaning, 

Through  and  through  that  sword  was  run. 

Oh  how  sad  with  woe  oppressed, 
"Was  she  then,  the  MOTUEB  blessed, 

"Who  the  sole-begotten  bore  ; 
As  she  saw  His  pain  and  anguish, 
She  did  tremble,  she  did  languish, 

"Weep,  her  holy  Sox  before. 


ADVICE,  we  are  well  aware,  is  one  of  those  things  which 
'  it  is  more  blessed  to  give  than  to  receive ; '  yet  we  cannot 
help  saying  to  our  Philadelphia  correspondent,  that  the  la 
bor  he  has  bestowed  upon  his  punning  epistle  would,  other 
wise  directed,  have  sufficed  for  the  production  of  an  article 
that  could  scarcely  have  failed  to  reflect  credit  upon  his 
evident  talents.  Labored  puns  and  conundrums  are  very 
hard  reading.  It  is  not  less  a  labor  to  laugh  at  them  than 
it  is  to  write  them.  Look  at  this  wretched  thing  :  *  Why 
is  a  man  looking  for  the  philosophers  stone  like  XEP- 
TUNE  ?'  '  Give  it  up '  at  once,  and  '  let  us  pass  on,  and  not 
offend  you'  farther.  '  'Cause  he  's  a  sea-king  what  do  n't 
exist !'  It  is  of  kindred  stuff  that  modern  puns  are  made. 


136  A    TRIBUTE    TO    ART; 

There  is  such  a  thing  as  a  practical  conundrum,  which  is 
not  amiss.  '  Look  a-hea',  SAM,'  said  a  western  negro  one 
day  to  a  field-hand  over  the  fence  in  an  adjoining  lot; 
'look  a-hea',  d'  you  see  dat  tall  tree  down  dar  ?'  '  Yaas, 
JIM,  I  does.'  '  Wai,  I  go  up  dat  tree  day  'fore  yes'dy  to 
de  bery  top.'  '  Wat  was  you  a'ter,  SAM ? '  'I  was  a'ter 
a  'coon  ;  an'  w'en  I'd  chased  'im  cl'ar  out  to  t'  odder  eend 
o'  dat  longes'  limb,  I  hearn  sumfin  drop.  Wat  you  guess 

't  was,  SAM  ?     D'  you  give  'in  up  ?     'Twas  dis  d d 

foolish  nigga  !  E-yah  !  e-yah  !  Like  to  broked  he  neck : 
been  limpin'  'bout  ever  since  !' 


WE  do  not  know  when  we  have  encountered  a  more 
forcible  tribute  to  an  American  portrait-painter  than  is  con 
tained  in  the  following  extract  from  a  letter  which  a  dis 
tinguished  foreigner,  at  present  sojourning  in  this  country, 
recently  received  from  his  wife,  now  resident  in  London. 
The  passage  refers  to  the  portrait  of  the  gentleman  in 
question,  a  most  speaking  likeness  of  the  original  :  '  At 
last  I  can  announce  to  you  the  safe  arrival  of  the  long-ex 
pected  treasure,  your  dear  portrait.  With  what  delight  I 
greeted  it,  is  beyond  ray  power  to  express.  My  impatience 
to  behold  your  pictured  countenance  induced  me  to  attempt 
to  open  the  huge  packing-case  unaided,  and  I  soon  suc 
ceeded  in  releasing  it  from  its  bondage ;  and  to  my  heart's 


ELLIOTT    AND    1  N  M  A  N  .  137 

delight  I  once  more  surveyed  your  perfect  image !  To  my 
idea,  it  is  in  all  respects  a  complete  resemblance  of  your 
self ;  and  every  day  I  am  more  and  more  impressed  with 
this  opinion.  I  send  you  a  thousand  thanks  for  this  to  me 
invaluable  present.  It  is  a  treasure  I  would  not  part 
with  for  any  earthly  consideration.  Still  I  must  tell  you 
that  it  makes  me  feel  more  unhappy  and  more  disconso 
late  at  our  temporary  separation  ;  and  so  restless  am  I  to 
survey  your  likeness,  so  truly  depicted,  that  scarce  a  night 
passes  without  my  procuring  a  light  and  dwelling  upon  it, 
while  all  is  stillness  around  me.  Present  my  compliments 
to  the  artist,  and  say  that  I  am  more  grateful  to  him  than 
I  can  find  words  to  express,  and  that  he  has  conferred  the 
greatest  happiness  on  me  that  this  world  can  afford,  next 
to  that  of  sending  me  the  original.'  The  artist  here  allu 
ded  to  is  Mr.  C.  L.  ELLIOTT,  whose  studio  is  in  an  upper 
room  of  the  Art  Union  Buildings,  Broadway.  Truth  to 
say,  the  encomium  passed  upon  Mr.  ELLIOTT  in  the  fore 
going  fervent  sentences  is  well  deserved.  We  know  of  no 
American  portrait-painter  who  has  advanced  with  more  rapid 
strides  toward  perfection  ;  a  fact  sufficiently  evinced  by  the 
patronage  which  he  has  secured  from  the  best  sources  in  the 
metropolis.  A  few  weeks  before  the  death  of  the  lament 
ed  HENRY  IXMAX,  that  fine  artist  was  in  the  studio  of  Mr. 
ELLIOTT.  After  surveying  the  portraits  of  his  latest  sitters 
with  a  painter's  eye  and  a  painter's  scrutiny,  he  said,  '  I 


138  AN    ORIGINAL: 

must  have  you  paint  my  portrait,  and  I  will  paint  your's 
in  return.'  '  I  shall  only  be  too  glad  to  do  so,'  replied  Mr. 
ELLIOTT  :  'I  cannot  help  thinking  that  I  should  be  able  to 
obtain  a  characteristic  likeness  of  you.'  '  Yes,'  answered 
INMAN,  (in  a  manner  which  we  could  see,)  passing  his  hand 
over  his  face,  with  a  significant  gesticulation  ;  'yes,  I  think 
you  could;  features  plain  and  blocky  —  Uocky!^  Would 
that  any  New-Yorker  possessed  at  this  moment  a  portrait 
of  our  departed  friend,  such  as  he  knew  ELLIOTT  could 
have  painted  ! 


1  WHILE  I  am  on  the  subject  of  '  originals,' '  writes  an 
esteemed  Southern  friend,  now  a  Senator  of  the  United 
States,  *  allow  me  to  bring  to  your  notice  a  specimen  :  I 
was  in  the  office  of  a  legal  friend  some  time  since,  when  a 
dilapidated  specimen  of  humanity,  bearing  full  traces  of 
the  wear  and  tear  of  life,  came  in.  He  addressed  himself 
at  once  to  the  proprietor  of  the  office  :  '  Your  servant,  Sir. 

I  see  before  me,  I  presume,  that  distinguished  lawyer, 

— ,'  naming  my  friend.  '  I  myself,  Sir,  am  in  affinity 
to  the  legal  profession.  I  am  the  son,  Sir,  of  a  distin 
guished  advocate  in  the  Old  Dominion  :  my  name,  LANCE 
LOT  LANGLEY  LING  —  the  Reverend  LANCELOT  LANGLEY 
LING.  I  live  in  the  State  of  -  — .  I  teach  a  little,  I 
preach  a  little,  and  I  plough  a  great  deal.  These  combined 
operations  have  told  upon  me :  they  tell  upon  me  now, 


A    REVEREND    JEREMY    DIDDLER.      139 

Sir.  As  the  poet  says,  '  These  tatter'd  robes  my  poverty 
bespeak.'  The  people  of  my  region,  Sir,  are  poor,  and 
can  afford  me  but  little  help.  I  said,  '  I  will  seek  the 
wealthy  of  another  State:  they  shall  minister  to  my 
wants.'  I  came  hither  to  find  them  :  but  do  you  know, 
Sir,  that  external  appearance  has  its  effect  upon  men  ? 
1  es,  Sir,  it  has  ;  and  therefore,  before  I  sought  the  wealthy 
I  came  to  the  wise,  who  regard  not  exteriors,  but  look  to 
the  mind.  '  Worth  makes  the  man,  and  want  of  it  the 
fellow  ;  the  rest  is  all  but  leather ; '  and  indeed,  Sir,  there 
is  very  little  '  leather '  about  me,  as  you  may  easily  per 
ceive  by  looking  at  the  tattered  condition  of  my  boots. 
Now,  Sir,  I  will  be  grateful  for  your  contribution.  My 
wants  are  simple  —  my  desires  few.  I  have  a  small  plan 
tation,  on  the  top  of  a  high  hill  ;  the  plantation  very 
small,  but  the  hill  very  high.  A  log-house  graces  its  brow  ; 
a  beautiful  well  of  splendid  water  is  there,  Sir;  an  orchard 
of  benevolent  fruit-trees  is  there  also,  (I  call  them  benevo 
lent,  Sir,  because  they  give  both  sustenance  and  shade  to 
me,  and 

'  Tis  sweet  to  sit  beneath  the  shade 
That  your  own  industry  hath  made : 

Something  of  the  poet,  too,  Sir,  as  you  see :)  and  I  am 
there  also  when  I  am  there ;  but  at  present  the  school 
master  (myself,  Sir)  is  abroad,  and  my  mission  is  three 
fold  :  FIRST:  I  want  clothes:  my  journeyings  and  my 


140  AN     ORIGINAL. 

labors  have  brought  bad  habits  upon  me.  (Excuse  the 
pun,  Sir :  it  is  a  college  failing.  '  You  may  break,  you 
may  ruin  the  vase  if  you  will,  but  the  scent  of  the  rose 
will  linger  there  still.')  SECOND  :  I  want  money  to  buy  a 
small  negro  boy;  one  that  I  can  call,  on  my  return  from 
my  various  travels,  and  say  to  him :  BOB,  SAM,  TOM,  or 
whatever  his  name  might  be,  *  Take  my  horse  and  carry 
him  to  the  stable  : ' 

'  THEN  might  I  rest  beneath  my  leafy  bower, 
And  hug  the  spirit  of  the  passing  hour. 

Last  and  not  least,  Sir,  I  want  window-sashes  for  our 
church,  which  we  call  '  Mount  Zion.'  I  want  putty  and 
glass,  or  money  to  buy  them  : 

'  THESE  are  my  wants ;  all  simple,  and  but  few : 
My  tale  is  told  —  I  leave  the  rest  to  you.' 

* '  And  my  tale  is  easily  told,  Mr.  LING,'  said  my  friend, 
*  and  my  duty  will  be  quickly  performed.  Here  are  five 
dollars :  if  that  sum  is  of  any  use  to  you,  you  are  wel 
come  to  it.' 

* '  Will  five  dollars  be  of  any  service  to  me  ?  Will  a 
smart  shower  be  of  any  service  to  a  droughty  land  ?  Will 
a  large  slice  of  the  staff  of  life  be  of  any  service  to  a  hun 
gry  traveller  ?  Yes,  Sir,  five  dollars  will  be  of  use  to  me! 
Do  you  know  what  I  will  do  with  this  sum,  which  I  am 
now  proud  to  call  my  own  ?  Nay,  Sir,  you  must  know  — 
you  ought  to  know  — so  list  to  me.  I  will  purchase  a  pair 


A    REVEREND    JEREMY    DIDDLER.      141 

of  boots  for  myself,  with  part :  the  balance  shall  be  invest 
ed  in  putty  and  glass  for  the  aforesaid  church.  And  now 
fere  well ! 

'  A  THOUSAND  blessings,  saith  thy  bard, 

A  thousand  joys  to  thee ; 
A  life-time  by  no  sorrow  marr'd, 
A  death  from  anguish  free.' 

If  ever  you  come  to ,  Sir,  come  to  me.     You  will 

be  welcome  to  the  home,  to  the  heart,  to  the  hospitality, 
of  LANCELOT  LANGLEY  LING.  Once  more,  Vale  f ' 

*And  away  he  went.  I  saw  him  the  next  day  in  the 
streets.  He  had  on  a  fine  pair  of  boots,  and  I  trembled 
for  the  putty  investment.  Once  more  we  met,  and  he  no 
longer  looked  like  '  the  man  all  tattered  and  torn,  that 
kissed  the  maiden  all  forlorn,'  for  he  was  dressed  in  a  full 
suit  of  broad-cloth  ;  '  superfine,'  and  as  FAGIN  said,  with 
the  '  heavy-swell  cut.'  Whether  he  ever  succeeded  in  re 
alizing  funds  for  all  the  simple  and  few  wants  and  desires 
of  his  heart,  I  know  not.' 


THERE  goes  again  that  steam-shriek  of  the  locomotive, 
on  the  Hudson  River  rail-road  !  But  it  is  morning  now ; 
and  instead  of  conveying  wondering  new-comers  to  the 
metropolis,  it  is  carrying  country -born  metropolitans  into 
the  very  midst  of  their  old  associations.  They  are  passing, 
by  the  '  going-forth  of  the  ways,'  from  the  great  city  : 


142  A    MORNING    LOCOMOTIVE. 

they  leave  the  '  roaring  of  the  wheels,'  and  the  thousand 
sights  and  sounds  which  have  long  been  familiar  to  them; 
they  pass  the  '  out-squirts,'  as  Mrs.  PARTINGTON  terms  the 
suburbs,  and  anon  the  horizon  begins  to  widen  ;  the  river 
broadens  to  the  Tappaan-Zee  ;  the  surburban  villas,  gleam 
ing  upon  the  shores,  are  left  behind  ;  the  hills,  the  ancient 
hills,  arise,  '  whose  summits  freeze  in  the  fierce  light  and 
cold  ; '  and  beyond  all,  k  lies  the  vast  inland,  stretched  be 
yond  the  sight ; '  an  inland,  at  this  spring-season,  where 
the  country-bred  traveller  sees  in  his  mind's  eye  the  blue 
smoke  curling  up  from  the  maple-sugar  'sap-works;' 
smells  the  bass-wood  'spouts,'  (' gouge'-split  and  thin- 
'  whittled '  before  the  pensive  evening  fire  of  spring,)  and 
inhales  the  odor  of  the  red-cedar  buckets :  he  recalls  the 
deep,  '  sploshy '  snow,  through  which  he  tramped,  '  neck- 
yoke'  on  shoulder,  to  bring  the  luscious  juice  to  the  '  store- 
trough,'  previous  to  being  poured  into  the  dark-boiling, 
low-murmuring  l  pot-ash-kettles ;'  and  he  remembers  well 
the  looks  of  the  vari-colored  fungi,  with  an  under-surface 
whiter  than  the  finest  zinc-tints  of  our  friend  FOSDICK, 
which  grew  upon  the  prostrate  and  decaying  monarchs  of 
the  forest,  over  which  he  strode,  on  his  'sweet'  mission. 
Perhaps  he  may  remember  a  snow-storm  too,  like  this  in 
which  we  write,  when  his  humble  cot  was  shut  up  by  the 
elements  ;  when  the  turkeys  and  geese,  the  cocks  and  hens, 
came  up  the  high  snow-banks  and  pecked  at  the  windows ; 


Ax    'UNFORTUNATE    MEMORY.'          143 

when  the  long  icicles,  button-ribbed,  like  the  end  of  a  rat 
tle-snake's  tail,  hung  scarcely-dripping  from  the  eaves  ;  and 
the  little  folk  would  open  the  outer  door,  move  a  step  or 
two  from  it,  the  whiff  of  a  snow-shower-bath  taking  away 
their  breath  in  the  mean  time,  and,  half  shrinking,  half  in 
sport,  pierce  two  or  three  deep  yellow  holes  in.  the  bank, 
and  then  rush  shivering  into  the  house  again.  But  there's 
the  last,  the  dying  sound  of  the  steam-whistle,  away  in 
the  stormy  distance  ! 


HEARD  a  little  incident  to-day,  which  struck  us  as  a 
very  graphic  illustration  of  the  hurry  with  which  surgical 
operations  are  sometimes  resorted  to.  A  brave  officer,  who 
had  been  wounded  with  a  musket-ball  in  or  near  his  knee, 
was  stretched  upon  the  dissecting-table  of  a  surgeon,  who, 
with  an  assistant,  began  to  cut  and  probe  in  that  region  of 
his  anatomy.  After  a  while  the  '  subject '  said  :  '  Don't 
cut  me  up  in  that  style,  doctor !  "What  are  you  torturing 
me  in  that  cruel  way  for ! ' 

'We  are  looking  after  the  ball,'  replied  the  senior 
operator. 

1  "Why  didn't  you  say  so,  then,  before  ? '  asked  the  in 
dignant  patient.  'I  've  got  the  ball  in  my  pocket ! '  said 
he,  putting  his  hand  in  his  waistcoat,  and  taking  it  out. 
'I  took  it  out  myself,'  he  added ;  '  did  n't  I  mention  it  to 
you  ?  I  meant  to  ! ' 


144  INFLUENZAL    POETRY. 

*  AT-CHEE  !  —  at-chu  ! '  We  have  caught  the  '  Idflu- 
edza  ! '  That  last  was  the  sixteedth  tibe  we  Ve  sdeezed  id 
five  bidutes.  We  Ve  been  tryidg  to  si'g  the  followig  so'g, 
but  bade  bad  work  edough  of  it : 

*          'By  BAKY-ADDE  is  like  the  sud 

Whed  at  the  dawd  it  flidgs 
Its  golded  sbiles  of  light  upod 

Earth's  greed  a'd  lovely  thrgs. 
Id  vaid  I  sue :  I  o'dly  wid 

From  her  a  scordful  frowd; 
But  sood  as  I  by  prayers  begid, 

She  cries,  '  Oh  do !  —  bego'de  I ' 

1  By  BAKY-ADDE  is  like  the  bood, 

Whed  first  her  silver  sheed 
Awakes  the  dightidgale's  soft  tnde, 

That  else  had  siled't  beed : 
But  BAKY-ADDE,  like  darkest  dight, 

Od  be,  alas !  looks  dowd ; 
Her  sbiles  od  others  beab  their  light, 

Her  frowds  are  all  by  owd : 
I  've  but  o1  de  burthed  to  by  so'dg, 

Her  frowds  are  all  by  owd ! ' 


*  IN  Schoharie  county,'  writes  an  obliging  friend, '  there 
lives  a  man  whose  addiction  to  profanity  is  such  that  his 
name  has  become  a  by-word  and  a  reproach  ;  but  by  some 
internal  thermometer  he  so  graduates  his  oaths  as  to  make 
them  apply  to  the  peculiar  case  in  hand  ;  the  greater  the 


TWO-EDGED    COMPLIMENT.  1 45 

mishap  or  cause  for  anger,  the  stronger  and  more  frequent 
his  adjurations.  His  business  is  that  of  a  gatherer  of  ashes, 
which  he  collects  in  small  quantities  and  transports  in  an 
ox-cart.  Upon  a  recent  occasion,  having  by  dint  of  great 
labor  succeeded  in  filling  his  vehicle,  he  started  for  the 
ashery,  which  stands  upon  the  brow  of  a  steep  hill ;  and 
it  was  not  until  he  reached  the  door  that  he  noticed,  wind 
ing  its  tortuous  course  down  the  long  declivity,  a  line  of 
white  ashes,  while  something  short  of  a  peck  remained  in 
the  cart.  *  The  dwellers  by  the  way-side  and  they  that 
tarried  there '  had  assembled  in  great  force,  expecting  an 
unusual  anathema!  display.  Turning  however  to  the 
crowd,  the  unfortunate  man  heaved  a  sigh,  and  simply  re 
marked  :  '  Neighbors,  it 's  no  use  ;  /  can't  do  justice  to 
the  subject ! ' 

VERY  sly  and  *  smart '  is  the  following  anecdote,  which 
we  find  unattributecl  to  any  particular  source,  in  a  religious 
journal  of  this  city  :  '  JOSIAS  WINSLOW  was  one  of  the 
early  governors  of  the  Massachusetts  colony.  It  is  said 
that  at  his  funeral  the  Rev.  Mr.  WITHERELL,  of  Scituate, 
prayed  that  '  the  governor's  son  might  be  half  equal  to  hi? 
father.'  The  Rev.  Dr.  GAD  HITCHCOCK  observed  after 
ward,  that  the  '  prayer  was  so  very  reasonable,  it  might 
have  been  hoped  that  GOD  would  grant  it;  but  he 
did  n't!' 


146  WORLDLY    '  WISDOM.' 


WONDER  if  there  are  not  some  people  in  the  world 
that  do  actually  reason  after  the  cool  manner  of  the  phi 
losopher  who  gives  this  sage  advice  to  his  friend  ?  Just  as 
likely  as  not.  We  know  some  citizens  who  act  according 
to  such  advice, '  any  way ' :  '  The  duties  of  life  are  two-fold  : 
our  duty  to  others  and  our  duty  to  ourselves.  Our  duty 
to  ourselves  is  to  make  ourselves  as  comfortable  as  pos 
sible  :  our  duty  to  others  is  to  make  them  assist  us,  to  the 
best  of  their  ability,  in  so  doing.  This  is  the  plan  on  which 
all  respectable  persons  act.  Adhere  strictly  to  truth  — 
whenever  there  is  no  occasion  for  lying-  Be  particularly 
careful  to  conceal  no  one  circumstance  likely  to  redound 
to  your  credit.  If  it  be  for  your  interest  to  lie,  do  so,  and 
do  it  boldly.  No  one  would  wear  false  hair  who  had  hair 
of  his  own,  but  he  who  has  none,  must  of  course  wear  a 
wig.  A  wig,  you  see,  my  young  friend,  is  simply  a  lie 
with  hair  on  it.  I  do  n't  see  any  difference  between  false 
hair  and  a  .false  assertion.  In  fact,  I  think  a  lie  a  very 
useful  invention.  It  is  like  a  coat  or  a  pair  of  breeches : 
it  serves  to  clothe  the  naked.  But  do  n't  throw  your  falsi 
fications  away.  I  like  a  proper  economy.  Some  silly  per 
sons  would  have  you  invariably  speak  the  truth.  Now  if 
vou  were  to  act  in  this  way,  in  what  department  of  com 
merce  could  you  succeed  ?  How  would  you  get  on  in  the 
law,  for  instance  ?  WThat  vagabond  would  ever  employ 


CONSIDERATE'    ADVICE.  147 


YOU 


to  defend  his  cause  I      What  practice  do  you  think 
you  M  be  likely  to  procure  as  a  physician,  if  you  were  to 
tell  every  old  woman  who  fancied  herself  ill  that  there  was 
nothing  the  matter  with  her  \     Never  break  a  promise  un 
less  bound  to  do  so  by  a  previous  one  :  and  promise  your 
self,  from  this  time  forth,  never  to  do  any  thing  that  will 
put  you  to   inconvenience.      Be  firm,  but  not  obstinate. 
Never  change  your  mind  when  the  result  of  the  alteration 
would  be  detrimental  to  your  comfort  and  interests  ;  but  do 
not  maintain  an  inconvenient  inflexibility  of  purpose.     Do 
not,  for  example,  in  affairs  of  the  heart,  simply  because  you 
have  declared,  perhaps  with  an  oath  pr  two,  that  you  will  be 
constant  till  death,  think  it  necessary  to  make  any  effort  to 
remain  so.     The  case  stands  thus :  You  enter  into  an  en 
gagement  with  a  being  whose  aggregate  of  perfections  is 
expressible,  we  will  say,  by  20.     Xow  if  they  would  al 
ways  keep   at  that  point,  there  might  be  some  reason  for 
your  remaining  unaltered,  namely,  your  not  being  able  to 
help  it.     But  suppose  that  they  dwindle  down  to  19  1-2  : 
the  person,  that  is,  the  whole  sum  of  the  qualities  admired 
no  longer   exists,  and  you,  of  course,   are  absolved  from 
your  engagement.     But  mind,  I  do  not  say  that  you  are 
justified  in  changing  only  in  case  of  a  change  on  the  op 
posite  side  :  you  may  very  possibly  become  simply  tired. 
In  this  case,  a  prior  promise  to  yourself  will   absolve  you 
from  the  performance  of  the  one  in  question.' 


148  A    MUSICAL    ENTHUSIAST. 


WE  heard  a  clever  thing  at  the  table  of  a  friend  at 
*  Shnang  P'int'  the  other  day,  which  is  too  good  to  be  lost. 
It  appears  that  one  morning  at  the  capitol,  just  after  the 
Senate  had  organized,  Senator  BADGER  was  seized  with  so 
violent  a  fit  of  sneezing,  that  it  caused  much  merriment  in 
the  galleries.  Senator  DICKINSON,  a  man  of  genuine  hu 
mor,  thereupon  immediately  sent  him  the  following  : 

'  A  NOISE  in  the  Senate  is  quite  out  of  place, 

If  't  is  one  which  spectators  are  like  to  be  pleased  at; 
And  a  member  should  know,  if  '  out-siders '  do  not, 
That  the  Senate  in  session  is  '  not  to  be  sneezed  at ! ' 


OUR  right-hand  '  MAIN  '  mentions  an  amusing  instance 
of  professional  enthusiasm.  He  was  coming  down  from 
Albany  the  other  evening,  in  one  of  our  noble  Hudson 
River  steamers,  and  was  about  going  to  take  his  place  near 
the  entrance  to  the  supper-table,  when  his  arm  was  seized, 
almost  convulsively,  by  a  man  \vho  was  watching  the 
movements  of  the  engine,  and  apparently  listening  intent 
ly  to  some  unusual  noise.  '  Do  you  hear  that  ? '  said  he ; 
'do  you  hear  THAT,  Sir?'  'No,'  said  'MAIN,'  a  little 
scared,  thinking  that  there  might  be  a  sound  indicative  of 
'  a  b'iler  a-bu'sting  ; '  '  no,  I  d-do  n't  notice  any  thing  un 
usual.'  '  Wait  a  bit ;  hear  that  ?  '  Ko-chung  !  ko- 
!' — that 's  a  minor-third,  Sir!  —  a  perfect  minor- 


GOD    IN    NATURE.  149 

third  ! '  Such  a  musical  critic  as  that  would  assign  the 
'  yowl '  of  a  tom-cat,  the  '  ye-6-a-w  ! '  of  a  pussy,  or  the 
brav  of  a  jackass,  borne'  on  the  night-wind,  its  specific  po 
sition  on  the  musical  scale.  What  a  beautiful  thing  it  is  to 
have  *  an  ear '  for  music  —  especially  such  music  ! 


WE  were  standing  one  evening,  some  years  ago,  in  the 
door  of  the  house  of  a  friend,  residing  in  one  of  the  upper 
streets  of  the  city,  being  about  to  take  our  leave  of  him 
for  the  night.  The  atmosphere  was  beautifully  clear  and 
the  air  delightfully  cool.  The  far-off  stars  shone  in  their 
serene  and  silent  spaces,  with  a  back-ground  of  such  deep 
blue  as  one  sees  when  looking  into  the  sky  at  midnight 
from  the  top  of  Kaatskill-mountain.  While  we  were 
'gazing  steadfastly  into  heaven,'  the  friend  by  our  side  re 
marked  :  '  By-the-by,  there  is  a  comet  predicted  to  appear, 
somewhere  about  this  time,  in  the  heavens.  I  was  reading 
an  article  about  it  this  very  afternoon :  it  will  make  its 
first  appearance,  I  believe,  in  that  quarter  of  the  heavens,' 
pointing  high  up,  and  in  a  south-westerly  direction.  We 
stood  regarding  wistfully  that  particular  part  of  the  even 
ing  sky,  when  our  friend  exclaimed,  'As  I  live,  there  is  th.i 
comet  now!  Yes  —  yes:  there  it  is,  to  a  certainty!' 
And  following  his  directing  finger  we  sa\v,  far  up,  am] 
away  in  the  south-west,  a  semi-luminous  body,  something 


150  A    COMET. 

not  unlike  an  enlarged  star,  with  a  dim  '  continuation,'  like 
the  fainter  light  of  the  '  Milky  Way,'  of  a  clear,  bright 
ni<>-ht.  '  Look  at  it !  —  think  of  it ! '  exclaimed  our  friend. 

^ 

'  There  in  yonder  sky,  is  an  erratic,  wandering  body,  with 
no  fixed  orbit,  uncontrollable,  so  far  as  known,  by  any  spe 
cific  law,  or  regular  celestial  mechanism,  which,  after 
sweeping  its  awful  cycle  amidst  the  revolving  worlds  above 
us,  suddenly  4  streams  its  horrid  hair '  on  the  midnight  sky  ! 
How  wide,  how  sublime,  has  been  its  celestial  journey! 
And  is  it  not  a  heavenly,  an  almost  overpowering  thought, 
that  hereafter,  in  a  world  of  unclouded  light  and  know 
ledge,  it  may  be  vouchsafed  to  us  to  see  with  our  natural 
eyes,  and  without  the  mistakes  to  which  calculation  is  sub 
ject,  the  course  of  comets,  the  order  of  the  solar  and  plane 
tary  systems,  and  fathom  the  depths  of  that  dread  arch  of 
mystery  that  now  hangs  suspended  above  us  ! '  This  in 
cident,  which  occurred  many  years  ago,  was  forcibly  called 
to  mind  a  few  days  since,  as  we  were  steaming  down  from 
DOBB'S,  on  the  morning  of  the  recent  partial  eclipse  of  the 
sun.  Here  was  demonstrated  not  only  the  grandeur  of 
the  divinely-ordered  movements  of  the  heavenly  bodies, 
but  the  sublimity  of  the  intellect  of  the  creatures  of  the 
ALMIGHTY.  At  the  very  moment  predicted,  we  saw, 
through  a  bit  of  smoked  glass,  a  faint  rim  of  shadow  clip 
the  edge  of  the  great  orb  of  day,  and  continue  its  en 
croachment  upon  its  diminishing  light,  until  the  exact  ex- 


WHAT'S    THE     L  A  w  .  151 

tent  that  had  been  foretold  was  attained.  And  then  it  was 
that  we  thought  of  those  who,  at  that  precise  moment, 
high  upon  the  Alps,  were  looking  from  those  towering 
forms  of  Nature  that  4  pinnacle  in  clouds  their  snowy 
scalps,'  to  see  the  mighty  shadow  of  the  eclipse  roll  along 
the  vast  region  below,  blotting  out  whole  provinces  of  lovely 
Italy  in  its  o-iant-marcli !  It  were  worth  the  toil  of  a 

V 

twelve-month  to  witness  that  sublime  spectacle. 


SOMEBODY,  •  we  name  no  parties,'  illustrated  in  our 
hearing  the  other  evening  the  vague  idea  which  some  peo 
ple,  who  enter  into  litigation,  have  of  the  powers  of  LAW 
over  any  and  all  cases,  under  all  sorts  of  circumstances. 
A  man  in  a  state  of  great  excitement  entered  a  metropoli 
tan  lawyer's  office,  and  taking  off  his  hat,  and  a  chair  by 
the  table  at  the  same  time,  and  wiping  the  perspiration 
from  his  forehead  with  a  damp  red-and-yellow  pocket  hand 
kerchief,  asked  the  counsellor  '  in  chambers '  for  his  *  views ' 
as  to  '  the  laic.1  'Well,'  said  the  counsellor,  '  as  to  what 
jaw  ?  —  under  what  circumstances  ?  State  your  case.  I  '11 
tell  you  what  the  law  is,  when  you  state  your  case.  You 
want  to  know  what  the  law  is  as  to  ichat  ?  '  4  Wai,'  re 
sponded  the  client,  scratching  his  head,  and  seeming  to  be 
greatly  taken  aback  by  this  unexpected  obstacle,  '  wal, 
'sposin'  a  man  leaves  the  state,  and  do  n't  come  back  ag'in  ( 


152  AN    ANECDOTE. 

THEN  what's  the  law  ! '  'I  never  shall  forget,'  said  our  in 
formant,  '  the  blank  disappointment  exhibited  in  that  client's 
face,  when  I  told  him  that  that  was  a  case  past  any  legal 
surgery  of  mine.  '  Can't  fetch  him,  eh?  —  and  he  owes 
me  more  'n  fifty  dollars ! '  Seeing  that  his  '  case '  was 
4  gone,'  the  client  left  also. 


NUMBER    SEVEN. 

CHRISTMAS     GREENS  —  THE    CROSS  I      A     '  PICTURE     EN*    LITTLE '    OF     WAR  :     RAFT- 

rsciDENT  ox  THE  omo :    THOUGHTS  OF  THE  DEAD  —  WESLEY  :  '  SEARCHING 

THE   SCRIPTURES'  — A  NEW  READING:     A  PHILOSOPHEE   OUTWITTED  :    'GREAT 

SHAKES'  OF  A  DUTCHMAN'S  DOG:  THE  MYSTERIOUS  PRINCE —  'POISSON  D' 
AYRIL  ' :  AN  INDIAN  ON  THE  GALLOWS  :  DEATH  OF  A  MOTHER  :  THE  '  YAN 
KEE-PASS  ' :  A  FEBRUARY  NIGHT  :  A  TESTACEOUS  PHENOMENA  :  THE  '  UP 
SHOT  '  OF  MARRIAGE:  'DUBIOUS'  SCULPTURE:  DEATH  OF  AN  INNOCENT* 

'  MRS.  RAMSBOTTOM  '  ABROAD :  A  CHUF.CH  DEDICATION  :  '  UNDER-DONE ' 
APOSTLES :  PLEASURES  OF  MEMORY :  RUM  rtrsut  WATER  :  TIUCKS  UPON 
TRAVELLERS  :  NIGUT-OONFLAGRATION  —  THE  SILENT  CITY 

LOOKING  around,  as  we  came  in  to-night,  upon  the  an 
nual  Christmas-greens,  in  all  tasteful  forms,  with  which 
the  hand  of  Affection  annually  decorates  the  sanctum,  we 
met  '  THE  CROSS,'  graceful  in  shape,  and  entwined  with 
rosaries  of  red  berries.  Far  back  in  memory  we  went  in 
stantaneously,  and  heard,  for  the  first  time  as  it  were,  in 
the  little  church  of  our  '  boyhood's  home,'  this  first  verse 
of  a  hymn  fall  from  the  eloquent  lips  of  the  Rev.  DERRICK 
C.  LANSING  : 

'  WHEN  I  survey  the  wondrous  cross 

On  which  the  PRINCE  OF  GLORY  died, 
All  earthly  gain  I  count  but  dross, 
And  pour  contempt  on  all  my  pride ! ' 

How  many  are  the  cells  of  memory  !  —  how  countless 
the  things  that  are  treasured  there  !  —  and  how  strangely 


154     A    'PICTURE    IN     LITTLE'    OF    WAR. 

they  rise  to  the  mind,  amid  one's  daily  cares  and  avoca 
tions  !     We  shall  know  more  of  this  mystery  hereafter. 


'  THERE  is  tew  sides  to  the  matter  of  war,'  says  HOSEA 
BIGELOW,  writing  from  Mexico ;  and  he  proceeds  to  illus 
trate  the  fact : 

'  THIS  kind  o'  sogorin'  ain't  a  mite  like  our  October  trainin', 
"Where  a  chap  could  clear  right  out,  ef  it  only  looked  like  rainin1 ; 
"Where  the  Cunnles  used  to  kiver  up  their  shappoes  with  bandanners, 
And  send  the  Insines  skootin'  off  to  the  bar-room  with  their  banners, 
(Fear  o'  gittin'  on  'em  spotted,)  and  a  feller  could  cry  quarter 
Ef  he  fired  away  his  ram-rod,  arter  too  much  rum-and-water. 
Recollect  what  fun  we  had  —  I  and  you  and  EZKY  HOLLIS  — 
Up  there  to  "Waltham  Plain  last  fall,  a  havin'  the  Couim  ALIAS  ? 
This  sort  o'  thing  ain't  jest  like  that :  I  wish  that  I  was  furder  ! 
Ninepenoe  a  day  for  killin'  folks  comes  kind  o1  low  for  murder. 
("Why,  I  've  worked  out  to  slaughterin'  some,  for  Deacon  CEPHAS  BUJJNS, 
And  in  the  hardest  times  there  was  I  always  fetched  ten  shiLlin's :) 
This  '  goin'  where  glory  waits  ye'  hain't  one  agreeable  featur', 
An'  ef  it  warivt  for  wakin'  snakes,  I'd  be  home  ag'in,  short  metre ! 
O,  would  n't  I  be  off,  quick  time,  ef 't  warn't  that  I  was  sart'in 
They  'd  let  the  day-light  into  me,  to  pay  me  for  desartin'  ? ' 

HOSEA  is  not  the  only  one,  probably,  who  has  lately 
ascertained  that  militia  trainings  and  '  CORN  WALLS  '  sham- 
fights  are  quite  unlike  the  actual  *  pomp  and  circumstance 
of  glorious  war.' 

A  FRIEND  once  informed  us  that  one  of  the  most  ridic 
ulous  sioiits  he  ever  saw  was  on  the  Ohio  river.     He  was 


BAFT-INCIDENT    ox    THE    OHIO.        1 55 

going  up  that  beautiful  stream  in  a  large  steamer,  when 
the  boat  encountered  a  vast  raft,  something  more  than  a 
mile  long,  and  quite  half  a  mile  wide,  with  a  small  house 
in  the  very  centre  of  it.  It  was  coming  down  rapidly  with 
the  current,  when  the  steam-boat,  notwithstanding  her 
effoi-ts  to  avoid  the  collision,  found  herself  in  the  '  toils '  of 
the  raft,  having  caught  in  such  a  way  between  its  unevenly- 
projecting  timbers  as  to  be  quite  incapable  of  extrica 
tion.  And  now  it  was  that  the  doughty  captain,  standing 
upon  the  extremest  point  of  the  bow  of  his  boat,  with 
doubled  fist,  and  '  indignation  in  's  aspect,'  apostrophized 
the  navigator  of  the  raft,  and  poured  out  upon  his  head 
the  fiercest  vials  of  his  anger  ;  while  the  proprietor  of  the 
*  well-wooded '  floating  acres,  whose  downward  course  it 
was  impossible  to  stem,  was  seen  slowly  approaching  in  the 
distance,  holding  his  hand  back  of  his  ear,  as  if  anxious  to 
hear  what  '  the  captain  said.'  As  soon  as  he  came  within 
hail,  and  was  made  fully  sensible  of  the  anathemas  that 
were  being  hurled  against  him,  he  took  a  short  black  pipe 
out  of  his  mouth,  spat  twice,  and  replied :  '  You  go  to  the 
devil  with  your  little  steam-boat !  I  do  n't  want  any  o' 
your  saace  !  Get  eout  o'  the  way  ! '  And  resuming  his 
pipe,  he  slowly  wended  his  way  back  to  his  cabin.  After 
having  been  borne  down  some  eight  or  ten  miles,  the 
steamer  was  at  length  extricated,  and  the  captain  went  on 
his  way  rejoicing. 


156  THOUGHTS    OF    THE    DEAD 


READER,  when  in  the  providence  of  GOD,  it  shall  be 
your  fate  to  stand  by  the  cold  form  of  one  whom  you  have 
loved ;  to  gaze  upon  lips,  oh !  how  pale  and  motionless ; 
upon  hands  thin  and  wasted,  crossed  upon  the  silent 
breast ;  upon  eye-lids  dropped  upon  cheeks  of  clay,  never 
to  be  lifted  again ;  then  haply  you  may  think  of  these 
beautiful  lines  of  the  good  WESLEY.  Amidst  remembered 
hopes  that  vanished  and  fears  that  distracted,  weeping  in 
unknown  tumults, '  like  soft  streamings  of  celestial  music ' 
will  come  to  your  aching  heart  this  serene  Evangel ! 

How  blest  is  our  brother,  bereft 

Of  all  that  could  burthen  his  mind  ! 
How  easy  the  soul  that  has  left 

This  wearisome  body  behind !    x 
Of  evil  incapable  thou, 

"Whose  relics  with  envy  I  see ; 
No  longer  in  misery  now, 

No  longer  a  sinner,  like  me. 

This  dust  is  affected  no  more 

With  sickness,  or  shaken  with  pain  ; 
The  war  in  the  members  is  o'er, 

And  never  shall  vex  him  again : 
No  anger  henceforward,  nor  shame, 

Shall  redden  his  innocent  clay; 
Extinct  is  the  animal  flame, 

And  passion  is  vanished  away. 

The  languishing  head  is  at  rest, 
Its  thinking  and  aching  are  o'er  ; 


'SEARCHING    T  HE    SCRIPTURES.'       157 

The  quiet,  immovable  breast 

Is  heaved  by  affliction  no  more. 
The  heart  is  no  longer  the  seat 

Of  trouble  or  torturing  pain ; 
It  ceases  to  flutter  and  beat, 

It  never  will  flutter  again ! 

The  lids  he  so  seldom  could  close, 

By  sorrow  forbidden  to  sleep, 
Sealed  up  in  eternal  repose, 

Have  strangely  forgotten  to  weep, 
The  fountains  can  yield  no  supplies, 

The  hollows  from  water  are  free, 
The  tears  are  all  wiped  from  these  eyes, 

And  evil  they  n*ver  shall  see. 


THE  late  lamented  HENRY  LXMAX,  used  to  relate,  with 
inimitable  effect,  a  story  of  an  illiterate  English  Methodist 
minister  at  the  West,  who  one  night,  at  a  class-meeting, 
mentioned  the  following  affecting  circumstance:  'It  is 
but  a  little  while-ah,  since  I  was  a-travelink  along  one  of 
your  great  rivers-ah,  surrounded  by  the  deep  forest ;  I 
stopped  at  a  rude  shanty  by  the  low  river  side-ah,  and 
there  I  found  a  poor  family  in  grea-a-t  affliction-ah.  They 
were  all  sick  ;  their  children  were  shiverink  and  starving  ; 
their  heads  frowzy  and  dirty ;  and  I  was  informed  by  the 
mother  that  they  had  lost  their  fine-tooth  comb-ah  !  They 
was  ignorant  of  the  go-6spel,  and  did  n't  seem  to  care 
about  it,  'ither:  for  when  I  reasoned  with  'em-ah,  the  wo- 


158        A    PHILOSOPHER    OUTWITTED. 

man  was  all  the  time  lamenting  the  loss  of  her  fine-tooth 
comb-ah  !  '  Have  you  the  Bible  in  your  cabin  ? '  said  I  to 
her,  says  I-ah  ;  says  she,  '  Yes,  theer  it  is,  up  theer  on  the 
catch-all-ah,'  p'inting  to  a  narrow  shelf  over  the  smoky  fire 
place,  *  but  we  do  n't  often  read  into  it-ah ;  ha'nt  read  any 
on't  but  once't,  when  our  little  BILL  died  with  the  ager 
for  as  much  as  tew  months-ah  ! '  I  got  onto  a  die-tub,  my 
friends,  that  stood  in  the  corner,  and  reached  up  and  took 
down  the  blessed  Book,  all  covered  with  dust-ah ;  and 
what  do  you  think  it  was  that  I  opened  to-ah  ?  What  do 
you  think  it  was  that  I  found  there-ah,  to  satisfy  the  long 
ings  of  that  poor  woman-ah  ?  It  was  the  long  lost,  the 
long-wanted,  fine-tooth  c-oo-m-b-ah  !  Oh,  my  hearers, 
s'a-a-rch  the  skitters-all  !  If  she  had  only  s'aarched  the 
skripters,  how  her  mind  would  'a  been  eased-ah  ! ' 


GREAT  men,  great  philosophers,  are  sometimes  beaten 
on  their  own  ground,  by  the  simplest  minds  and  the  least- 
instructed  intellects.  We  've  laughed  a  hundred  times  at 
an  illustration  of  this,  which  occurs  to  us  at  this  moment. 
We  have  heard,  or  have  read  somewhere  —  but  where  we 
have  not  the  slightest  notion  —  that  upon  one  occasion 
NEWTON,  the  immortal  philosopher,  was  riding  over  some 
English  plain  or  '  down,'  when  a  boy  who  was  keeping 
sheep  called  out  to  him  :  '  You'd  better  make  haste  on. 


A    PHILOSOPHER     OUTWITTED.        1  59 

Sir,  or  you'll  get  a  wet  jacket.'  The  sky  was  clear  ; 
there  was  not  a  cloud,  nor  a  speck  of  a  cloud,  to  be  seen  : 
and  the  philosopher  considering  the  remark  a  hoax,  or  at 
least  an  impertinence,  rode  quietly  on  ;  but  he  had  not  ad 
vanced  six  miles  before  a  rain-storm  suddenly  arose,  which 
wet  him  to  the  skin  !  Saturated  as  he  was,  he  neverthe 
less  rode  back,  to  ascertain  how  an  ignorant  lad  had  at 
tained  a  precision  in,  and  a  knowledge  of,  elemental  calcu 
lation,  of  which  the  wisest  philosopher  might  well  be 
proud. 

'  My  lad,'  said  XEWTOX,  when  he  arrived  where  '  fed 
his  flock,  the  rural  swain,'  '  I'll  give  you  a  shilling  if 
you  '11  tell  me  how  you  foretold  the  weather  so  truly.' 
1  Will  ye,  Sir  ?  '  said  the  boy,  scratching  his  head,  and 
holding  out  his  hand  for  the  shilling.  Having  received  it, 
he  pointed  to  his  sheep,  and  thus  expounded  his  '  theory  ;  ' 
'  AYhen  you  see  that  black  ram  turn  his  tail  toward  the 
wind,  it  's  a  sure  sign  of  rain  within  an  hour  !  '  Xow, 


N'S  apple,  FRANKLIN'S  kite 
Gave  laws  to  lightning  and  to  light  :  ' 

but  either  philosopher  would  as  soon  have  consulted  a  hy 
draulic  '  ram  '  as  the  best  merino,  for  the  keen  practical 
knowledge  got  by  '  Observation]  out  of  '  Experience, 
which  was  exhibited  by  the  '  Shepherd  of  Salisbury  Plain  ; 
for,  if  we  remember  rightly,  it  icas  on  Salisbury  Plain 
where  the  incident  which  we  have  narrated  occurred. 


160         *  G-  R  E  A  T    SHAKES'    OF    A    DOG. 


'  I  SAY,  Square,  what  '11  yeou  take  for  that  'are  dog  o' 
your'n  ? '  said  a  Yankee  pedler  to  an  old  Dutch  farmer,  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Lancaster,  Pennsylvania  :  *  what  '11 
yeou  take  for  him  ?  He  ain't  a  very  good-lookin'  dog ; 
but  what  was  you  cal'latin',  may-be,  he  'd  fetch  ? '  '  Ah ! ' 
tesponded  the  Dutchman,  '  dat  dog  ish  n't  wort'  not'ing, 
'most ;  he  ish  n't  wort'  you  to  buy  'um.'  *  Guess  tew  dol 
lars  abeout  would  git  him,  would  n't  it?  I'll  give  you 
that  for  him.'  '  Yaas  ;  he  is  n't  wort  dat.'  '  Wai,  I  '11 
take  him,'  said  the  pedler.  '  Sh'stop  ! '  said  the  Dutch 
man  ;  '  dere  's  one  t'ing  about  dat  dog  I  gan  't  sell.'  '  O, 
take  off  his  collar  ;  I  do  n't  want  that,'  suggested  the  ped 
ler.  '  'T  ain't  dat,'  replied  Mynheer ;  he  's  a  boor  dog, 
but  I  gan  't  sell  de  wag  of  his  da'd  when  I  comes  home  ! ' 
There  is  some  good  honest  Dutch  poetry  of  feeling  in  that 
reply,  reader,  if  you  will  but  think  of  it  a  moment. 


A  GOOD  story  was  told  us  the  other  day  by  Mr. 
WASHINGTON  IRVING,  of  the  late  Mr.  Fox,  British  minis 
ter  at  Washington,  when  at  Paris,  about  sixteen  years 
since.  He  must  have  been  somewhat  of  a  wag  in  his 
younger  days.  There  was  at  the  time  an  Irish  lady,  Mrs. 

G ,  of  some  fashion,  residing  in  Paris,  who  had  a  great 

passion  for  foreigners  of  rank.     She  had  invited  a  large 


THE     MYSTERIOUS    PRINCE. 


161 


party  to  dinner,  on  the  first  of  April,  when  Mr.  Fox  wrote 
her  a  note,  in  the  character  of  a  Count  of  her  acquaint 
ance,  informing  her  that  he  had  just  arrived,  and  request 
ing  to  have  the  pleasure  of  introducing  to  her  his  Hunga 
rian  friend,  the  Prince  of  Seidlitz-Powderz,  who  intended 
to  stay  but  two  or  three  days  in  Paris.  With  this  note 
was  sent  a  card,  engraved  : 


Ctje 


of 


AT  MEL-RICE'S  HOTEL. 


Mrs.  C immediately  replied  to  his  note,  by  invit 
ing  him  and  his  friend  to  dinner.  In  the  course  of  the 
morning,  she  called  on  two  or  three  of  her  fashionable 
friends,  who  were  to  have  soirees,  requesting  permission  to 
introduce  the  Prince  to  them.  The  hour  of  dinner  ar 
rived,  but  the  Prince  did  not  make  his  appearance.  The 
viands  were  kept  back  until  they  were  nearly  spoiled  ;  still 
no  Prince  was  forthcoming.  The  dinner  was  at  last  served. 
Various  speculations  were  indulged,  in  the  course  of  the 
repast,  about  the  Prince  ;  what  kind  of  a  man  he  might 
be  ;  whether  young  or  old,  tall  or  short,  dark  or  fair, 
etc.  A  Hungarian  present,  did  not  know  of  such  a  title 
among  their  nobility,  and  hinted,  cautiously,  that  it  was 


162       AN     INDIAN     ON     THE     GALLOWS. 

possible  lie  might  be   an  impostor.     Mrs.  0 would 

not  listen  for  a  moment  to  such  a  suggestion.  At  length, 
about  nine  o'clock,  a  letter,  with  a  black  margin,  was  re 
ceived  from  the  Prince,  regretting  that  he  could  not  avail 

himself  of  Mrs.  C 's  kind  invitation,  as  he  had  just 

heard  of  the  death  of  his  cousin,  the  BISHOP  OF  EPSOM- 
SALTZ,  who  had  died  at  Cheltenham  !  In  a  corner  of  the 
note  was  written  '  Poisson  d'Avril  ! ' 


AN  Indian  was  executed,  not  very  many  years  since, 
at  Batavia,  in  this  state.  He  was  a  singular  genius,  with 
all  the  indomitable  indifference  peculiar  to  his  race.  While 
under  sentence  of  death,  he  amused  himself  with  drawing 
rude  sketches  on  the  walls  of  his  cell,  with  a  piece  of  char 
coal,  representing  himself  undergoing  execution.  '  Here,' 
said  he  to  the  sheriff,  one  day,  'look  here;'  pointing  to  a 
sketch  with  three  figures  :  'See;  man  with  sword  — guess 
you  :  man  with  rope  on  his  neck  — too  much  choke  ;  guess 
may-be  me;  see,  lazy  man,  with  book;  guess,  may -be 
minister ;'  and  therewith  he  smiled  grimly.  He  kept  up 
this  spirit  to  the  very  last.  He  said  one  day,  '  No  use  to 
be  feller  without  you  hell  of  a  feller ;'  and  when  standing 
on  the  gallows,  he  replied  to  the  clergyman,  who  rebuked 
his  indifference  and  stolidity  with  the  remark,  that  he  feared 
he  '  would  go  to  hell.'  '  No,  guess  not ;'  (an  Indian's  ex- 


THE    -YANKEE     PASS.'  163 

pression  of  doubt,  always  ;)  and  with  these  words  scarcely 
out  of  his  mouth,  he  was  '  launched  into  eternity.' 


WE  have  always  thought  these  lines  in  '  FAUST,'  de 
scriptive  of  the  death  of  a  mother,  to  be  very  touching. 


'  AII  !  it  i<  the  spouse,  the  dear  on..- ! 
Ah  !  it  is  that  faithful  mother  '. 
She  it  is  that  thus  is  borne, 
Sadly  borne  and  rudely  torn 
By  the  sable  Prince  of  Spectres. 
From  her  fondest  of  Protectors; 
From  the  children  forced  to  flee, 
Whom  she  bore  him  lovingly, 
Whom  she  gazed  on  day  and  night 
"With  a  mother's  deep  delight.' 


THE  ''Yankee  Trick'  described  by  our  Medford  (Mass.) 
correspondent  is  on  file  for  insertion.  It  is,  in  one  of  its 
features,  not  unlike  the  anecdote  of  an  old  official  Dutch 
man  in  the  valley  of  the  Mohawk,  who  one  day  stopped 
a  Yankee  pedler  journeying  slowly  through  the  valley  on 
the  Sabbath,  and  informed  him  that  he  must  *  put  up '  for 
the  day  ;  or  '  if  it  vash  neshessary  dat  he  should  travel,  he 
must  pay  de  fine  for  de  pass.'  It  was  necessary,  it  seems ; 
for  he  told  the  Yankee  to  write  the  pass,  and  he  would  sign 
it;  '  that  he  could  do.  though  he  did  n't  much  write,  nor 


164  A    FEBRUARY    NIGHT. 

read  writinV  The  pass  was  written  and  signed  with  the 
Dutchman's  hieroglyphics,  and  the  pedler  went  forth  '  into 
the  bowels  of  the  land,  without  impediment.'  Some  six 
months  afterward,  a  brother  Dutchman,  who  kept  a  '  store' 
farther  down  the  Mohawk, '  in  settling  '  with  the  pious  of 
ficial,  brought  in,  among  other  accounts,  an  order  for 
twenty-five  dollars'  worth  of  goods.  *  How  ish  dat  ? '  said 
the  Sunday-officer  ;  '  /  never  gives  .no  order  ;  let  me  see 
him.'  The  order  was  produced  ;  he  put  on  his  spectacles 
and  examined  it.  'Yaas,  dat  ish  my  name,  sartain  — 
yaas ;  but —  it  ish  dat  d d  Yankee  pass  I ' 


As  we  write  (it  is  twelve  at  night,)  there  prevails  with 
out  one  of  those  February  snow-storms  that  are  of  so 
marked  a  character  as  even  to  task  the  memory  of  the 
'  Oldest  Inhabitant.'  Truly  of  such  it  may  be  averred, 
they  are  not  easily  forgotten.  Eleven  years  ago,  we  well 
remember,  a ;  like  molestation  of  the  enchafed  elements '  oc 
curred.  But  the  present  demands  all  our  attention.  Hark 
to  the  snow  hissing  against  the  window-panes ;  to  the 
'  roaring  wind  that  roars  far  off.'  for  the  most  part,  but 
that  now  and  then  '  comes  anear '  with  a  '  sough '  that 
makes  you  shudder,  and  to  the  ear  of  the  listener  '  blazes ' 
its  way  upon  clattering  window-shutters  along  the  stormy 
street,  as  the  Indian  '  blazes '  upon  the  forest  trees  his 


A     TESTACEOUS    PHENOMENA.          1 65 

pathway  through  the  wilderness !  How  at  this  moment 
the  floods  of  Long-Island  Sound  '  clap  their  hands ! ' 
How  the  breakers  roar  at  Sandy-Hook  !  How  they  tum 
ble  and  foam  and  dash,  at  the  Long-Branch  of  the  high 
Jersey-coast !  GOD  help  the  brave  mariners  on  our  shores 
to-night !  —  and  Heaven  defend  the  poor  and  destitute,  in 
this  vast  wilderness  of  human  dwelling,  over  whom  the 
Storm  Spirit  now  sails  with  dusky  wing  !  Children  of 
Affluence  !  ye  have  '  ta'en  too  little  care  of  this  : ' 

O  YE  !  who,  sunk  in  bods  of  down, 
Feel  not  a  want  but  what  yourselves  create, 
Think  for  a  moment  on  his  wretched  fate 
Whom  friends  and  fortune  quite  disown  ! 
Ill-satisfied  keen  Nature's  clam'rous  call, 
Stretch'd  on  his  straw,  he  lays  himself  to  sleep, 
"While  through  the  ragged  roof  and  chinky  wall, 
Chill  o'er  his  slumbers  piles  the  drifty  heap ! ' 

To  hundreds  in  this  crowded  metropolis  to-night  there 
is  nothing  ideal  in  this  sad  picture.  Happy  they,  if,  de 
spite  the  wretchedness  of  their  desolate  habitations,  a 
*  clear  dewy  haven  of  '  rest  that  sweetens  toil '  envelopes 
them,  and  fitful  glimmerings  of  cloud-skirted  dreams  ! ' 


WE  do  n't  usually  meddle  with  polemical  matters, 
and  have  taken  no  part  in  the  '  Hi^h '  or  '  Low  Church ' 
question  ;  but  are  inclined  in  this  connection  to  ask 


166         THE    'UPSHOT'    OF    MARRIAGE. 

whether  the  '  Episcopal  Floating  Chapels '  on  the  East  and 
North  livers  are  not  '  High '  or  '  Low '  churches,  according 
to  the  state  of  the  tide  ?  And  speaking  of  tides,  we  have 
another  query,  of  a  scientific  character,  to  propound. 
There  is  a  man  on  the  south  side  of  Long-Island,  a  man 
the  periphery  of  whose  aldermanic  '  corporation '  is  a  mar 
vel  to  strangers,  who  lives  almost  wholly  upon  the  '  liy- 
draulw  dams '  of  that  region,  which  are  so  proverbially 
4  happy '  at  high  water.  So  great  is  the  affinity  of  his 
gastric  demands  with  the  sea,  that  it  is  a  well-attested  fact 
in  the  neighborhood,  that  his  belly  rises  and  falls  with  the 
tide.  '  There  is  more  in  this  than  meets  the  eye,  if  Philo 
sophy  could  but  find  it  out.' 


WHAT  a  miserable  cynic  of  an  old  bachelor  it  must 
have  been  who  wrote  the  ensuing  description  of  marriage ! 
He 'ought  to  be  ashamed  of  himself:'  'Look  at  the 
great  mass  of  marriages  that  take  place  over  the  whole 
world  ;  what  poor,  contemptible  affairs  they  are !  A  few 
soft  looks,  a  walk,  a  dance,  a  squeeze  of  the  hand,  a  pop 
ping  of  the  question,  a  purchasing  of  a  certain  number  of 
yards  of  white  satin,  a  ring,  a  minister,  a  stage  or  two  in 
a  hired  carriage,  a  night  in  a  country  inn,  and  the  whole 
matter  is  over.  For  five  or  six  weeks  two  sheepish-looking 
persons  are  seen  dangling  on  each  other's  arms,  looking  at 


'DUBIOUS'    SCULPTURE.  167 

water-falls,  or  making  morning  calls,  and  guzzling  wine 
and  cakes ;  then  every  thing  falls  into  the  most  monoto 
nous  routine ;.  the  wife  sits  on  one  side  of  die  hearth,  the 
husband  on  the  other,  and  little  quarrels,  little  pleasures, 
little  cares,  and  little  children  gradually  gather  round 
them.  This  is  what  ninety-nine  out  of  one  hundred 
find  to  be  the  delights  of  matrimony.'  We  read  this  a 
moment  ago  in  the  sanctum  to  a  young  lady  of  eighteen 
with  large,  bright  eyes,  red  and  dewy  lips,  a  matchless 
figure  —  as  GEOFFREY  CRAYOX  writes,  'just  bursting  from 
her  boddice '—  and  she  says  she  thinks  it  '  atrocious,'  and 
the  man  who  wrote  it  a  <  very  great  fool ! '  If  the  writer 
could  have  seen  our  fair  friend  when  she  said  this,  we  be 
lieve  that  that  would  have  been  his  opinion  also. 


*  WE  were  lately  amused,'  says  a  waggish  contempo 
rary,  '  at  an  '  art  criticism  '  delivered  by  a  raw  and  unsus 
pecting  JONATHAN,  who  had  been  quietly  gazing  at  a  gar 
den  in  one  of  our  suburban  villages,  which  among  other 
ornaments,  boasted  several  handsome  marble  statues. 
1  Jest  see  what  a  waste!'  observed  our  rural  friend; 
4  there's  no  less  than  six  scare-crows  in  that  little  ten-foot 
garden  patch,  and  ary  one  of  'em  alone  would  keep  oft 
all  the  crows  from  a  five  acre  lot  ! '  That  would  have  been 
a  pleasant  criticism  for  the  sculptor  himself  to  hear,  would 


168  DEATH    OF    AN    INNOCENT. 

n't   it  ?      He    would  n't  have  sculp'd  again,  *  we  do  n't 
think ! ' 


WE  have  done  evil  this  day  at  the  Ferry  of  DOBB, 
and  remorse  sits  at  our  heart  and  '  gnaws  at  its  cruel  leis 
ure.'  Why  should  we  have  done  the  deed  ?  It  was  not 
revenge  ;  it  was  not  ambition ;  it  was  not  exactly  wanton 
ness  ;  cruelty  was  not  in  all  our  thoughts.  The  scene  it 
self  ;  the  pleasant  summer  day ;  the  cool  woods ;  the 
murmuring  brook ;  the  happy  little  folk ;  the  twittering 
birds  in  the  trees,  and  the  chirping,  'peeping'  chickens, 
running  in  and  out  of  the  grass  in  the  green  glade  by  the 
brook,  following  their  anxious  '  mother,'  who  seemed  to 
know  at  once  when  they  were  '  out ; '  all  these  things  were 
not  suggestive  of  cruelty.  But  'Young  KNICK.'  had  a 
cross-bow  gun,  one  of  the  right  kind,  with  trigger  and  all 
complete.  The  arrow  was  of  pine;  light,  and  bulbous  at 
the  end.  What  it  was  that  tempted  us,  as  we  took  the 
cross-bow  in  hand,  to  aim  an  arrow  at  that  young  mother 
of  a  hen,  we  cannot  tell.  We  did  n't  want  to  see  if  we 
could  hit  her;  our  object,  'if  we  know  our  own  heart,' 
was  to  see  if  we  could  n't  —  and  we  did  n't.  But  the 
'fatal  shaft'  sped  from  the  string,  and  took  instant  effect 
upon  the  hind-legs  of  a  downy,  tender  yellow  chicken,  just 
emerging  from  a  tuft  of  grass.  It  fell,  uttering  a  melan 
choly  peep,  for  it  had  received  serious  '  Internal  injury.' 


DEATH    OF    A  .\    I  x  x  o  c  E  x  T  .  1 69 

It  was  immediately  taken  up  and  conveyed  to  the  nearest 
house.  We  '  sat  on  the  body '  and  discovered  the  follow 
ing  facts  :  the  '  os  humeri '  was  broken  in  two  places ;  there 
was  a  compound  fracture  of  the  *  pia-mater ; '  the  '  left  cla 
vicle,'  in  its  '  lower  limb,'  was  completely  severed  from  the 
main  trunk  ;  and  the  transverse-section  of  the  smaller  in 
testine  was  collapsed  at  its  junction  with  the  liver  and 
lights. 

The  case  was  hopeless.  Every  thing  that  the  best 
unprofessional  medical  skill  could  do  to  save  the  life  of  the 
little  innocent  was  performed.  But  all  in  vain.  Its  throb 
bing,  fluttering  heart  ceased  to  beat  at  about  one  o'clock 
of  the  same  day.  It  expired  in  the  arms,  and  was  washed 
by  the  pitying  tears,  of  sympathetic  little  JOSE.  Then 
was  the  time  for  the  lesson  which  we  inculcated  upon  the 
sensitive  hearts  of  the  little  by-standers.  We  enlarged 
upon  the  heinousness,  the  guilt,  of  such  carelessness,  such 
thoughtless  cruelty,  as  they  had  that  day  witnessed  ;  until 
at  length  the  tide  began  to  turn  in  our  favor.  They  began 
to  lose  sight  of  our  practice  in  favor  of  our  preaching,  and 
to  look  upon  us,  on  the  whole,  as  an  '  instrument '  de 
signed  to  enforce  a  '  great  moral  truth  ! '  Well,  we  did 
illustrate  one ;  namely,  that  any  wrong-doing  will  alwavs 
carry  with  it  its  own  punishment  in  the  shape  of  an  unevad- 
able  remorse.  We  felt  chicken-hearted  all  day,  after  that 
'dreadful  casualty.11 


170       'MRS.     RAMSBOTTOM'     ABROAD. 


THE  '  Letter  from  Mrs.  Malaprop '  has  little  to  recon 
mend  it,  unless  it  be  its  sufficiently  wretched  orthography, 
which  certainly  does  not  constitute  wit,  though  it  has  the 
merit  of  nine  in  ten  of  the  original  JACK  DOWNIXG'S  imi 
tators.  Mrs.  LAVINA  RAMSBOTTOM,  now,  was  a  model  in 
this  kind  !  Her  mistakes  were  natural,  and  her  words 
were  never  forced.  Her  travelling  '  dairy,'  containing  the 
*  cream  of  her  information,'  overflowed  with  burlesque  and 
humor.  Having  a  little  time  on  her  hands  previous  to 
'  embrocation  in  the  packet  for  Callous  in  France,'  she 
4  took  it  by  the  fire-lock '  and  went  to  see  the  '  School  for 
the  Indignant  Blind '  near  London,  and  also  to  Canterbury, 
to  view  its  celebrated  cathedral.  '  The  old  Virgin  who 
showed  us  the  church,  said  it  was  an  archypiscopal  sea ; 
but  /  see  no  sea,  and  I  do  n't  think  he  could,  for  it  was 
seventeen  miles  off.'  After  partaking  of  a  '  cold  collec 
tion,' for  which 'the  charge'  was  'absorbent'  though  it 
were  for  the  '  Autograph  of  all  the  Jlussias,'  she  repairs  to 
Dover,  and  embarks  for  France.  While  crossing;  the 

O 

Channel  she  tells  us  that  '  a  fat  gentleman  fell  into  a  fit  of 
apperplexity  and  lay  prostitute  on  the  floor ;  and  had  n't 
it  have  been  that  we  had  a  doctor  in  the  ship,  who  imme 
diately  opened  his  temporary  artery  and  his  jocular  vein 
with  a  lancelot  he  had  in  his  pocket,  I  think  we  should 
have  seen  his  end.  All  his  anxiety  in  the  midst  of  ^his 


A    CHURCH    DEDICATION.  171 

distress  waa  to  be  able  to  add  a  crockodile  to  bis  will ! ' 
After  arriving  in  Paris,  she  visited  all  the  curiosities ; 
among  other  things,  the  '  statute  of  LEWIS  QUINZEY,  who 
died  of  a  sore-throat,  HENRY  CARTER  ('  no  relation  to  the 
CARTERS  of  Portsmouth,  unless  his  posteriors  have  greatly 
degenerated  in  size  and  figure,')  etc.  At  Rome  she  was 
much  impressed  with  the  '  Vacuum  where  the  POPE  keeps 
his  bulls,'  but  very  much  wearied  with  the  Tedium  that  she 
heard  sunsr  at  St.  Peter's. 


HERE  is  a  good  thing,  quoted  by  a  friend  in  connec 
tion  with  a  somewhat  kindred  anecdote  which  has  ap 
peared  in  the  KNICKERBOCKER  :  '  The  members  of  a  so 
ciety  in  Maine,  by  dint  of  long  exertion,  had  erected  a 
small  church.  One  of  the  number  was  dispatched  to  a 
large  town  to  request  a  noted  divine  to  take  part  in  ite 
dedication.  Xot  getting  his  errand  exactly,  he  simply  ap 
plied  to.  the  minister  to  come  and  dedicate  our  new 
church.'  '  What  part  do  you  wish  me  to  take  V  said  the 
clergyman.  ' AVhy,  we  want  you  to  dedicate  the  church* 
was  the  reply.  '  But  do  you  wish  me  to  deliver  the  ser 
mon,  or  to  make  the  opening  prayer,  or  only  to  make 
some  remarks  ? '  *  ^Vhy,'  exclaimed  the  brother,  piqued 
at  the  obtuseness  of  the  parson,  '  we  simply  want  you  to 
dedicate  the  church,  the  whole  on't ;  it  's  only  seventy-five 
feet  bv  fiftv  :  want  you  to  dedicate  it  ! ' 


172  'UNDER-DONE'    APOSTLES. 

MUCH  amused  to-night  with  an  anecdote  told  in  the 
sanctum  of  an  artist  in  ornamental  glass,  who  was  prepar 
ing  pictures  of  three  or  four  of  the  APOSTLES,  for  an  oriel 
window  of  a  church  in  a  flourishing  western  city.  He 
had  just  taken  them  from  his  furnace,  and  was  showing 
them  to  some  of  the  vestry.  '  Don't  say  any  thing  about 
it,'  said  he,  'for  it  would  n't  be  noticed  by  one  person  out 
of  a  hundred,  but  I  do  n't  mind  telling  you  in  confidence : 
Saint  PETER  is  a  little  cracked  in  the  head ;  he  was  too 
soft  in  the  upper  end ;  but  I  'av  got  a  first-rate  bake  on 
PAUL.  Saint  JOHN,  though,  is  n't  more  than  half-baked  ; 
I  '11  have  to  bake  another  JOHN.  But  d1  ever  you  see  a 
better-baked  PAUL  ? '  His  remarks  were  entirely  profes 
sional  ;  nor  had  he  the  most  remote  idea  of  there  being  a 
double-meaning  in  any  thing  he  was  saying. 


HE  was  an  accurate  observer  and  a  sound  reasoner, 
who  said  :  '  Mankind  are  always  happier  for  having  been 
happy  ;  so  that,  if  you  make  them  happy  now,  you  make 
them  happy  twenty  years  hence,  by  the  memory  of  it.  A 
childhood  passed  with  a  mixture  of  rational  indulgence, 
under  fond  and  wise  parents,  diffuses  over  the  whole  of 
life  a  feeling  of  calm  pleasure ;  and,  in  extreme  old  age,  is 
the  very  last  remembrance  which  time  can  erase  from  the 


RUM    VERSUS    WATER.  173 

mind  of  man.  Xo  enjoyment,  however  inconsiderable,  is 
confined  to  the  present  moment  A  man  is  the  happier 
for  life  for  having  made  once  an  agreeable  tour,  or  lived  for 
any  length  of  time  with  pleasant  people,  or  enjoyed  any 
considerable  interval  of  innocent  pleasure,  which  contri 
butes  to  render  old  men  so  inattentive  to  the  scenes  before 
them,  and  carries  them  back  to  a  world  that  is  past,  and 
to  scenes  never  to  be  renewed  again.' 


WE  are  obliged  for  the  kind  wofds  of  our  *  Newburgh 
Friend]  and  for  this  anecdote  of  an  odd  character  in  that 
meridian :  '  Riding  in  a  stage-coach  a  short  time  since, 
we  happened  to  have  among  others  for  a  fellow-passenger 
an  ardent  teetotaller,  who  was  descanting  eloquently  upon 
the  great  value  and  many  excellent  qualities  of  water,  and 
especially  of  its  prime  necessity  as  a  beverage ;  declaring 
that  nothing  could  be  substituted  in  its  place,  etc. ;  when 
an  old  gentleman,  who  had  been  listening  with  evident 
impatience,  remarked,  with  rather  a  contemptuous  look : 
1 1  hain't  nothing  to  say  ag'in  water ;  I  think  it  's  very 
good  in  its  place  ;  but  for  a  steady  drink,  give  me  nnn  .'• 
I  should  just  like  you  to  have  seen  Teetotal's  face  when 
he  heard  this  reply.  All  the  passengers  looked  grave  for 
a  second  or  so,  (for  the  assumption  was  altogether  as 
tounding,)  and  then  burst  into  a  roar  that  made  the  stage- 
soach  ring  again.' 


174          TRICKS    UPON    TRAVELLERS. 

SOME  one  mentioned  to  us  the  other  day  the  circum 
stances  of  a  fat  querulous  old  fellow  who  was  driven  from 
a  stage-coach  by  passengers  whom  he  had  annoyed  with 
his  growlings  and  complainings.  A  cigar  was  lighted, 
when  at  a  preconcerted  moment  one  of  the  passengers  ex 
claimed,  '  For  GOD'S  sake,  Sir,  put  out  that  fire  !  I  have 
four  pounds  of  powder  in  my  overcoat  pocket ! '  '  Driver ! 
driver!  stop!  —  stop!  —  STOP!'  exclaimed  the  victim  of 
this  '  gunpowder  plot : '  '  Let  me  get  out !  —  let  me  get 
out !  There  's  a  man  here  with  powder  in  his  pockets, 
and  he  '11  blow  us  all  to  the  devil ! '  The  complainant 
'•got  out'  accordingly,  in  no  small  hurry,  and  the  passen 
gers  thenceforward  pursued  the  even  tenor  of  their  way, 
undisturbed  by  his  farther  annoyance.  This  anecdote  re 
minds  us  of  an  occurrence  which  once  took  place  at  the 
long  and  picturesque  bridge  over  the  Cayuga  lake,  that 
middle-western  barriere,  of  which  success  or  defeat,  in 
times  of  political  excitement,  are  now  predicated.  A  wag 
from  Syracuse,  who  with  some  half-dozen  friends  had  been 
disporting  at  the  pleasant  and  flourishing  village  of  Seneca 
Falls,  determined,  on  approaching  the  toll-gate  in  a  sleigh, 
one  stormy  winter  night,  to  '  run  the  bridge.'  '  Lie  down, 
boys,'  said  he,  '  in  the  sleigh,  and  when  we  get  under  the 
gate,  groan  a  little,  and  tremble,  but  do  n't  over-do  it.' 
Here,  get  under  these  horse  blankets.'  They  did  so ;  and 
when  the  sleigh  came  under  the  picket-draw  of  the  bridge, 


NIGHT     CONFLAGRATION.  1 75 

they  began  to  moan  and  shake,  so  that  '  it  was  piteous  to 
see  and  eke  to  hear.'  *  I  have  nothing  less  than  this  ten- 
dollar  bill,'  said  our  wag,  handing  the  gate-keeper  a  bank 
note  ;  4  but  for  heaven's  sake  change  it  just  as  quick  as 
ever  you  can  !  I  have  three  friends  in  the  sleigh  who  are 
almost  dead  with  the  small-pox,  and  I  'm  in  such  an 

awful ' 

4  Drive  on  !  drive  on  ! '  said  the  terrified  gate-keeper, 
handing  back  the  bill ;  4  drive  on  —  pay  next  time ! '  Above 
the  whistling  of  the  snow-laden  wind  which  swept  over 
that  frozen  lake,  and  the  trampling  of  the  horses'  feet  on 
the  bridge  that  night,  the  gate-keeper  heard  the  loud  laugh 
of  those  wags,  proclaiming  that  he  had  been  4  taken  in  and 
done  for ! ' 


LOOKING  down  from  the  roof  of  a  high  dwelling  at 
night  upon  a  great  city,  partly  revealed  by  a  conflagration, 
is  to  us  a  sublime  spectacle.  In  the  semi-gloom,  uprise 
the  towers,  steeples,  domes  and  cupolas  into  the  heavens, 
now  brightening  now  fading  in  the  rising  and  sinking 
flame.  The  far-off  clanking  of  the  engines  ;  the  subdued 
roar  of  human  voices ;  the  faint  crackling  of  the  flames, 
and  that  monotone  of  raging  fire  which  rises  solemnly 
into  the  empyrean,  and  the  restless  patter  of  a  thousand 
feet ;  all  these  possess,  to  our  conception,  the  element  of 


176  THE    SILENT    CITY. 

sublimity.     Looking  up  to  the  dark  blue  star-begemmed 
dome  above,  one  cannot  help  saying  with  BRYANT  : 

'  THY  spirit  is  around, 
Quickening  the  reckless  mass  that  sweeps  along ; 

And  this  eternal  sound, 
Voices  and  footfalls  of  the  unnumbered  throng, 

Like  the  resounding  sea, 
Or  like  the  rainy  tempests,  speaks  of  THEE  ! 

'  And  \vhen  the  hours  of  rest 
Come  like  a  calm  upon  the  mid  sea  brine, 

Hushing  its  billowy  breast, 
The  quiet  of  the  moment  too  is  THINE  ; 

It  breathes  of  HIM  who  keeps 
The  vast  and  helpless  city  wi'ile  it  sleeps. 


NUMBER    EIGHT. 


DUE  FIRST  PLAY  —  COUNTEY  TUEATPJCALS  I  '  SHOET  OF  BIBLE  '  :  MAYuR  HAE- 
PEE  CAUGHT —  A  TEMPEEENCE  'PLEDGE":  WONDERFUL  CUBES  —  OILY 
'GAMMON':  DB.  cox  'IN  A  BOX':  '  WOBD  PICTTEES'  —  LONGFELLOW: 

THE     MACKLNAW    SEA-SERPENT :     'DESTINY'     DOUBTED:     FIRST     IMPRESSIONS 

OF  THE  KAATSKILLS :  '  ACCIDENT  '-AL  ACQUAINTANCE  :  AN  '  AMERICAN 
CITIZEN':  AN  IBRBGULAR  ' REVIVALIST ' :  SCENES  IN  A  CITY  HOSPITAL: 
DUBIOUS  DEFERENCE:  A  DUTCHMAN  'DONE':  A  'BAD  BARGAIN':  'VISIBLE 
PRESENCE'  OF  DEATH. 


WE  perceive  by  late  English  journals,  that  DICKENS  at 
the  London  Theatrical  Fund  dinner,  among  other 
things  remarked  :  '  If  any  man  were  to  tell  me  that  he  de 
nied  his  acknowledgments  to  the  stage,  I  would  simply  put 
to  him  one  question  —  whether  he  remembered  his  first 
play.  I  would  ask  him  to  cany  back  his  recollection  to  that 
great  night,  and  call  to  mind  the  bright  and  harmless 
world  which  then  opened  to  his  view.'  We  thought  of 
our  first  play,  the  other  night  at  Binghamton.  A  com 
pany  of  perambulating  actors,  and  some  of  them  very 
good  actors  too,  including  the  manager,  a  talented  and 
gentleman-like  person,  were  to  perform  at  the  court-house. 
So  in  the  evening  we  went  up  with  a  few  esteemed  friends. 


178  OUR     FIRST    PLAY. 

The  stage  was  erected  at  one  end,  and  the  audience  occu 
pied  the  jury-box,  witnesses'  stand,  and  the  side-seats  for 
spectators.  The  orchestra  was  a  single  fiddle,  played  at 
intervals  with  great  energy.  Little  boys  were  walking 
continually  about  in  the  open  space  before  the  stage,  ped 
dling  candy  and  pea-nuts.  The  drop-curtain  was  a  '  fea 
ture.'  It  had  the  picture  of  a  bird  that  might  have  been 
intended  for  the  Bird  of  JOVE,  but  '  by  JOVE  ! '  it  was  such 
an  eagle  as  we  never  saw  before  —  nor  since  !  The  whole 
scene  ;  the  actors  and  the  acting ;  the  fresh-hearted  little 
boys  looking  on  in  wonderment ;  the  tinselled  dresses  and 
decorations  ;  all  brought  vividly  back  to  us  the  memory  of 
our  first  play.  It  was  at  the  long-room  of  the  village  inn, 
and  *  Messrs.  AKCHBOLD,  TROWBRIDGE  and  GILBERT,' 
among  other  histrions,  were  the  performers.  How  wist 
fully  did  we  regard,  that  night,  for  the  first  time,  the 
patched  and  faded  mottled  green  curtain  ;  the  flashing  of 
shoe-buckles,  the  gleaming  of  flesh-colored  '  tights,'  and 
the  sparkling  of  spangled  garments,  caught  in  glimpses 
beneath  it.  And  the  play  —  oh,  '  it  was  grand  ! '  It  was 
4  ZANGA,  or  the  Revenge,'  and  Mr.  ARCHBOLD,  a  mouthing 
old  Stentor,  '  did '  the  hero.  We  expected  much  of  him, 
for  we  had  heard  him  say  in  the  morning  :  '  The  pawt  of 
ZEG-GAW,  Saw,  is  me  favorite  pawt.  I  played  ZEG-GAW 
at  Kenendegwaw ;  and  Mr.  FRENCES  GREG-GHAW,  one  of 
the  most  intelligent  o^  its  citizens,  pronounced  it  supavvb 


COUNTRY     THEATRICALS.  1 79 

acting.'  How  the  old  mountebank  did  roar  and  rave! 
Then  came  'The  Village-Lawyer,'  another  favorite  'pawt' 
of  his ;  and  at  this  moment  we  can  hear  him  say,  in  his 
affected,  piping  voice,  '  Thafs  my  signatur' — TIMO'SY 
SX-A-A-RL  ! '  There,  too,  we  heard  our  first  public  singing, 
except  at  church.  The  curtain  had  descended  upon  the 
personages  whose  sorrows  were  our  own,  and  '  musing  in 
melancholy  mood,'  we  were  gazing  vacantly  at  the  long 
row  of  tallow-candles  placed  in  anger-holes  in  the  boards 
of  the  stage,  and  at  the  fiddler  who  composed  the  orchestra, 
and  who  was  reconnoitring  the  house.  Presently  a  small 
bell  was  rung  with  a  jerk.  There  was  a  flourish  or  two 
from  the  '  orchestra.'  Another  tinkle  of  the  bell,  and  up 
rose  the  faded  drapery.  An  interval  of  a  moment  suc 
ceeded,  during  which  half  of  a  large  mountain  was  re 
moved  from  the  scenery,  and  a  piece  of  forest  shoved  up 
to  the  ambitious  wood  which  had  been  aspiring  to  overtop 
the  Alps.  At  length  a  young  lady,  whom  we  had  just 
seen  butchered  in  the  most  horrid  manner  by  a  black  vis- 
aged  villain,  came  from  the  side  of  the  stage  with  a  smile 
which,  while  it  displayed  her  white  teeth,  wrought  the 
rouge  upon  her  face  into  very  perceptible  corrugations,  and 
made  a  lowly  obeisance  to  the  audience.  She  walked  with 
measured  step  three  or  four  times  across  the  stage,  before 
the  flaring  candles,  smiling  again,  and  4  hemming,'  to  clear 
her  voice.  A  perfect  stillness  at  length  prevailed  :  '  awed 


180  'SHORT    OF    BIBLE.' 

Consumption  checked  his  chided  cough ; '  every  urchin 
suspended  his  cat-call,  and  '  the  boldest  held  his  breath  for 
a  time.'  The  fair  vocalist  looked  at  the  '  leader,'  (who  had 
nobody  to  follow  him,)  and  commenced  in  harmony  with 
his  instrument.  How  touching  to  us  was  that  song ! 
We  shall  never  have  our  soul  so  enrapt  again  ;  for  that 
freshness  of  young  admiration  possessed  our  spirit  which 
can  come  but  once.  The  song  was  '  The  Braes  of  Bal- 
quither]  a  Scottish  melody  as  old  and  as  lasting  as  the 
hills.  We  thought  the  audience  would  be  precipitated  in 
to  the  bar-room  below,  by  the  uproarious  applause  of  voice, 
feet  and  hands,  which  followed  this  verse : 

4  WHEN  the  mde  wintry  wind 

Wildly  raves  round  our  dwelling, 
And  the  roar  of  the  linn 

On  the  night-breeze  is  swelling, 
Then  so  merrily  wo  '11  sing, 

While  the  storm  rattles  o'er  us, 
Till  the  dear  shealing  ring 

With  the  blithe  lilting  chorus  I ' 

Ah,  well-a-day  !  —  that  was  a  *  good  while  ago,  now ; ' 
but  the  interval  has  passed  away  like  a  dream  of  the 
night ! 

HERE  is  a  laughable  instance  of  '_4  Man  short  of 
Bible:''  'A  reverend  gentleman,  while  visiting  a  parish 
ioner,  had  occasion  in  the  course  of  conversation  to  refer  to 


MAYOR  HARPER  CAUGHT.      181 

the  BIBLE,  and  on  asking  for  the  *  article,'  the  master  of  the 
house  ran  to  bring  it,  and  came  back  with  two  leaves  of 
the  book  in  his  hand.  '  I  declare,'  says  he,  '  this  is  all 
we  've  got  in  the  house :  I'd  no  idee  we  were  so  near  out ! ' 


THAT  was  n't  exactly  the  '  right  thing '  that  GEORGE 
WILKINS  KENDALL,  senior  editor  of  the  New-Orleans 
'•Picayune''  daily  journal,  did  down  at  the  Brothers  HAR 
PERS'  private  office,'  one  pleasant  morning  in  May,  when 
1  JAMES'  was  'His  Honor  the  Mayor.'  You  see,  the  way 
of  it  was  this :  When  GEORGE  went  into  the  counting- 
room,  he  asked  for  l  The  Mayor.'  '  The  Colonel '  pointed 
to  the  adjoining  private  office,  or  raised  '  sitting-room,'  and 
said,  '  He  's  in  there  :  there  's  a  delegation  there  from  the 
female  officers  of  '  The  MARTHA  WASHINGTON  Temperance 
Society,  of  which  '  the  MAYOR  '  is  the  honorary  President.' 
'I  'il  go  in  and  see  him.'  said  KENDELL.  '  Do,'  said  '  the 
Colonel : '  '  I  guess  they  're  about  through ;  they  've  kept 
him  talking  there  for  some  time  now.'  GEORGE  entered, 
his  face  a  little  flushed,  from  a  rapid  walk  down  to  Cliff- 
street  ;  and  as  he  did  so,  he  was  made  aware  of  the  pres 
ence  of  some  two  dozen  members  of  the  '  MARTHA  WASH 
INGTON  Teetotal  Association,'  in  solemn  conclave,  their 
President,  '  the  MAYOR,'  in  their  midst,  with  a  face,  partly 
from  the  warmth  of  the  morning,  and  partly  from  excite- 


182  WONDERFUL    CURES. 

ment,  even  more  flushed,  if  anything,  than  KENDALL'S. 
GRORGE  was  received,  beyond  a  slight  greeting  from  '  the 
MAYOR,'  with  ominous  silence  ;  but  he  l  knew  his  course.' 
'  Come,  HARPER,'  said  he, '  let 's  go  and  get  another  drink  : 
it  's  'leven  o'clock,'  he  added,  taking  out  his  watch  ;  '  aint 
you  dry  ag'in  ?  /  am  ! '  '  The  MAYOR  '  says  he  had  been 
'  taken  aback '  before ;  but  the  coolness  and  outrageous 
impudence  of  that  '  tack '  could  n't  be  beat !  '  The  women 
looked  daggers  while  KENDALL  was  pretending  to  be  hur 
rying  me  to  go  with  him  and  take  a  drink  called  '  Moral 
Suasion  ? ' 


A  MOST  '  extr'od'nary '  production  is  '  Betton's  British 
Oil.1  It  must  be,  judging  from  the  very  remarkable  cures 
which  it  has  effected,  as  set  forth  in  the  proprietor's  circu 
lar.  Do  us  the  favor  to  remark  the  following: 


'  JONAS  EGBERTS,  Tiler,  in  BLINKER'S  Court,  St.  JAMES,  Bristol,  was  cured 
of  a  violent  swelling  in  his  right  thigh ;  insomuch  that  he  was  obliged  to  cut 
open  his  breeches  with  a  knife,  in  three  times  dressing  with  the  '  British  Oil' 
Witness  my  hand,'  etc. 

'  JOHN  MITCHELL,  of  Salisbury  :  '  Had  a  violent  pain  in  my  hip,  so  that  I 
went  double  in  both  of  my  legs  with  two  bottles.  Witness  my  hand,1  etc. 

'  AN  apprentice  to  Mr.  STONE,  a  Tinker  in  Tauuton :  was  so  deaf  that  he 
could  n't  hear  the  noise  of  a  dram  with  three  bottles :  cured.  Witness,'  etc. 

'  MR.  JARVIS,  belonging  to  the  '  Tall  Woman,'  at  Norwich,  had  his  hand  bit 
by  a  mad  dog  with  two  bottles.  Witness,'  etc. 

4  Mr.  HUMPHREY  COTTKRILL,  of  the  '  Eoyal  Tun,'  Coventry,  by  a  fall  from 
his  horse,  which  strained  his  ankle ;  and  likewise  his  daughter  cut  desperately 
in  the  forehead  with  two  bottles:  cured  with  '  BUTTON'S  British  Oil.'  ' 


DR.     Cox    -i.\    A    Box.  183 

•  ELIZABETH  SLOCGH,  of  Wellington,  in  the  county  of  Salop,  entirely  lost 
the  use  of  her  hand  in  three  times'  bathing  \vith  this  Oil.  Witness  her 
hand,1  etc. 

We  have  no  hesitation  in  pronouncing  these  *  very  re 
markable  cures  : '  and  to  those  who  believe  them  to  be 
veritable,  we  have  no  hesitation  in  commending  the  '  Oil ' 
in  question. 


THE  venerable  Doctor  Cox,  of  Brooklyn,  was  driving 
out  in  thoughtful  mood  the  other  day  in  a  one-horse  wag 
on,  in  a  narrow  street  in  the  suburbs  of  the  town,  when 
two  wagons,  one  on  each  side,  attempted  to  pass  him. 
All  three  got  stuck  fast  together,  *  so  that  they  could  not 
be  moved.'  After  trying  for  some  time,  a  crowd  began  to 
collect  around,  and  Doctor  Cox  began  to  grow  red  in  the 
face,  and  to  remonstrate  in  strong  terms,  and  with  much 
repetition,  against  the  carelessness  of  one  of  the  oreen  de 
linquents.  At  last  the  other  replied,  (and  we  suspect  the 
wag  must  have  known  the  Doctor,)  I  —  I  —  I  could  n't 
help  it :  you  know  I  could  n't ;  and  what  the  d  —  1  is  the 
use  of  an  old  white-headed  man  like  you  standing  there, 
swearirf  at  me  in  that  way  \  —  swearirf  at  me  for  what  I 
could  n't  help  ?  What  's  the  use  of  swearin\  any  how  \ 
I  could  n't  help  it,  I  tell  you  ;  I  did  n't  go  to  do  it, 
o"  course  ;  swearirf  away  at  a  fellow  for  what  he  did  n't  (70 
to  do!'  The  Doctor  blushed,  and  looked  a  little  o-uiltv: 


184  'WORD    PICTURES.' 

the  charge  was  so  outrageous,  he  could  n't  help  it ;  and  it 
was  made  before  a  good  many  by-standers,  who  had  often 
seen  him  in  the  pulpit.  '  I  swear  at  you  ! '  exclaimed  the 
Doctor,  in  utter  amazement.  '  Ye- a- a- as  1 '  said  the 
other,  with  prolonged  and  potent  emphasis ;  '  sweariii1  at 
a  fellow  like  a  trooper,  when  he  did  n't  go  to  get  you 
stuck  ! '  The  Doctor  shrunk  away  abashed,  being  fairly 
driven  from  the  ground. 

BRYANT  is  remarkable  for  the  '  word-pictures,'  as  the 
Germans  term  it,  which  he  strews  so  profusely  through  his 
poetical  writings :  often,  by  the  use  of  a  single  vernacular 
expression,  bringing  before  the  reader  the  most  distinct  and 
delightful  images.  LONGFELLOW  possesses  a  kindred 
power.  One  hardly  knows,  sometimes,  how  his  '  effects,' 
in  artist-phrase,  are  produced;  but  a  nice  study  of  his  lan 
guage  will  generally  reveal  their  source.  Observe  the  pic- 
turesqueness,  the  variety,  the  reality  of  scene,  condensed 
in  these  few  stanzas  : 

'  WIIEX  descends  on  the  Atlantic 

The  gigantic 

Storm-wind  of  the  Equinox, 
Landward  in  his  wrath  he  scourges 

The  toiling  surges, 
Laden  with  sea-weed  from  the  rocks. 

'  From  Bermuda's  Keefs,  from  edges 
Of  sunken  ledges, 


THE     MACKINAW     SEA-SERPENT.        1 85 

Iu  some  far-off,  bright  Azore, 
From  Bahama,  and  the  dashing, 

Silver-Sashing 
Surges  of  San  Salvador. 

'  From  the  tumbling  surf,  that  buries 

The  Orkneyan  Skerries. 
Answering  the  hoarse  Hebrides: 
And  from  wrecks  of  ships,  and  drifting 

Spars,  uplifting 
On  the  desolate,  rainy  sea«. 

•  Ever  drifting,  drifting,  drifting 

On  the  shifting 

Currents  of  the  restless  main  ; 
Till  in  sheltered  caves,  and  reaches 

Of  sandy  beaches, 
All  have  found  repose  again.1 

Do  you  remark,  reader,  the  wide  grasp,  the  life,  aciioo 
visible  motion,  that  pervade  these  lines  ?  They  compose  a 
succession  of  *  marine  views '  as  palpable  to  sio-ht  as  the 
colorings  of  the  pencil. 


THE  sea-serpent  has  been  discovered  again  bv  an  Eng 
lish  captain,  officers  and  crew ;  and  the  illustrated  London 
journals  contain  portraits,  'half-size'  and  *  full-length,'  of 
his  snakeship,  accompanied  by  minute  and  authenticated 
descriptions  of  his  '  person '  and  movement?.  We  have 
been  led  to  believe,  from  our  own  experience,  that  one  may 
be  very  easily  deceived  in  these  water-reptiles.  Toward 


186       THE     MACKINAW    SEA-SERPENT. 

the  twilight  of  a  still  day,  near  the  end  of  July,  1847, 
HORACE  GREELEY  and  '  Old  KNICK.'  hereof  were  seated 
on  the  broad  piazza  of  the  dark-yellow  '  Mission-House ' 
at  Michilimackinac,  looking  out  upon  the  deep,  deep  blue 
waters  of  the  Huron,  when  an  object,  apparently  near  the 
shore,  suddenly  attracted  our  attention.  We  both  ex 
amined  it  through  a  good  glass,  and  came  to  the  mutual 
conclusion  that  it  was  an  enormous  sea-serpent,  elevating  its 
head,  undulating  its  humps,  and  '  floating  many  a  rood ' 
upon  the  translucent  StraiL  Such  also  was  the  opinion  of 
the  proprietor  of  the  '  Mission  House,'  who  in  a  ten  years' 
residence  at  Mackinaw  had  never  seen  the  like  before. 
4  Away  went  HORACE,  and  away'  went  *  Old  KNICK.'  after 
him,  down  to  the  shore  :  and  but  for  most  tremendous 
kangaroo  bounds  '  on  behalf  of  the  party  of  the  first  part,' 
and  a  slight  sticking  in  the  mud  of  an  intervening  marsh, 
'  on  the  part  of  the  party  of  the  second  part,'  '  this  depo 
nent  affirms  and  verily  believes '  that  this  deponent  would 
have  reached  the  beach  aforesaid  as  soon  as  he,  the  said 
HORACE  did.  When  we  had  arrived,  lo  !  the  object  which 
had  so  excited  our  curiosity  was  nothing  more  than  the  dark 
side  of  a  long  undulating,  unbroken  wave,  brought  into 
clear  relief  by  the  level  western  light  which  the  sun  had 
left  in  his  track  as  he  dropped  away  over  Lake  Michigan. 
We  felt  rather  '  cheap  '  as  we  came  along  back  together ; 
and  *  allowe  1 '  that  if  they  'd  seen  at  Nahant  what  we 


•DESTINY'    DOUBTED.  187 

had  at  Mackmac,  they  'd  have  sworn  that  it  was  the  sea- 
serpent.     '  Catch  us  doing  any  thing  o'  that  kind  ! '  etc. 


I  KNEW  an  old  man,'  writes  a  correspondent,  'who 
believed  that  '  what  was  to  be  would  be.'  He  lived  in 
Missouri,  and  was  one  day  going  out  several  miles  through 
a  region  infested,  in  the  early  times,  by  very  savage  Indians. 
He  always  took  liis  gun  with  him,  but  this  time  he  found 
that  some  of  the  family  had  it  out  As  he  would  not  go 
without  it,  some  of  his  friends  tantalized  him  bv  saying 
that  there  was  '  no  danger  of  the  Indians ; '  that  he 
'would  not  die  until  his  time  had  come.'  etc.  '  Yes,'  says 
the  old  fellow,  *  but  suppose  I  was  to  meet  an  Indian,  and 
his  time  had  come,  it  would  n't  do  not  to  have  my  gun  ! ' 


READER,  by  your  leave,  we  will  give  you  some  'leaves,' 
as  we  sit  in  the  light  of  a  transcendent  morning,  not  yet 
fully  dawned  in  its  glory,  surveying  —  whenever,  for  a  mo 
ment,  the  music  of  the  pen  ceases  —  from  an  upper  win 
dow  of  the  '  Pine  Orchard  House,'  the  magnificent  scene 
spread  out  below.  A  white  fog-serpent,  a  hundred  milt* 
in  length,  is  undulating  his  humps  along  the  Hudson,  and 
with  head  erect,  is  moving  gradually  on  toward  Albany. 
The  clouds,  bom  of  yesterday's  shower  down  the  moun- 


188  THE    K  A  AT  SKILLS. 

tain,  arose  bright  beneath  us  this  morning,  having  washed 
their  faces  clean  in  their  own  rain  during  the  night ;  and 
now  they  hang  far  below,  saturate  with  sunlight,  like  illu 
minated  billows  of  floating  cotton.  Toward  noon,  per 
chance,  they  will  gather  together  again,  and  flecking  with 
shadows  the  wide  expanse  beneath  them,  as  they  sail 
along,  suddenly  pause  and  *  discharge  their  cargo,'  the 
husbandman  rejoicing  the  while,  that  at  last, 

'  THE  gathered  storm  is  ripe,  the  big  drops  fell, 
And  sun-burnt  meadows  smoke,  and  drink  the  rain.' 

We  have  just  been  fancying  the  prospects  of  grandeur 
and  beauty  which  may  be  commanded  from  the  dawn- 
tipped  mountains  that  bound  the  view  on  the  north  and 
east — the  Green  Mountains  of  Vermont,  old  Monadnock 
and  the  mighty  hills  of  the  '  steady  land,'  which  rise  be 
tween  us  and  the  distant  river,  that,  calmly  gliding,  parts 
the  abrupt  peaks  of  Holyoke  and  Tom  —  the  wide-spread 
fields,  the  peopled  villages,  humming  with  busy  industry, 
the  shining  streams,  and  the  white  churches,  upon  which 
they  look  down.  Come  hither,  ye  cockneys,  and  denizens 
in  populous  cities  pent,  and  inhale  this  mountain  air ! 
How  many  a  languid  form,  lying  in  sadness  upon  a  bed  of 
pain,  awaiting  his  only  solace,  the  footstep  of  his  physician, 
'  with  healing  in  the  creak  of  his  shoes,'  would  bless  this 
invigorating  breeze  !  What  a  contrast  to  the  city  is  here! 
There,  a  red-nosed  man.  with  a  sandy  peruke,  walks  about 


;  A  C  C  I  D  E  X  T '  -  A  L       A  C  Q  U  A  I  X  T  A  X  C  E .          1 89 

the  few  small  and  dusty  patches  of  faded  green,  (called 
*  parks  ! ')  and  tapping  the  reclining  pedestrian  with  his 
baton,  points  to  a  by-law  of  the  city's  fathers,  suspended 
from  a  stunted  tree,  where  frowns  denouncing!}*,  '  Keep  off 
the  Grass  f  There,  the  gutteral  airs,  hot  and  sultry, 
would  penetrate  the  obtusest  olfactory,  though  guarded  by 
a  dense  moustache,  bristling  Mike  the  horns  of  a  centi 
pede;'  airs  embracing  every  variety  of  mauvaise  odeur, 
from  the  green  mantle  of  the  standing  pool,  to  the  most 
piquant  cat-effluvia.  Here,  on  the  other  hand,  the  whole 
city,  placed  on  the  vast  plain  below,  would  dwindle  to  a 
speck,  and  all  the  nations  of  the  worl.i  might  there  stand 
assembled,  without  jostling.  Here,  there  is  no  elaborate 
dirt.  Here,  the  mountain  wind, 

'Most  spiritual  thing  of  all  the  wide  earth  knows, 

would  well-nigh  revive  the  dying.  But  we  are  forgetting 
that  the  Kaatskills  need  not  our  poor  blazon. 


*  DID  you  know  Doctor  WEIR  \ '  asked  an  inquisitive 
gentleman  in  one  of  the  Philadelphia  cars,  of  a  North 
ampton  country  Dutchman.  '  Doctor  VEER  ? '  he  replied  ; 
'  well  den,  yaas,  I  know'd  him  a  little.  I  seen  him  once-t. 
"W  e  was  on  dat  shteam-poat  vat  vash  plow'd  up  mit  te 
p'iler  bu'stin'  by  Pittsburgh  dere  :  and  w'en  T  vash  goin 


190  AN    'AMERICAN    CITIZEN.' 

on  de  shore  by  de  plank,  he  and  de  shmoke-pipe  vash  corn- 
in'  down.     I  never  seen  him  pefore  nor  since  ! ' 


THIS  '  wooden  country  '  of  ours  is  really  beginning  to 
bethought  something  of  'on  the  other  side!'  As  the 
English  cockney  said  of  Niagara  Falls,  '  it  is  very  clever : 
very  ! '  AMERICA  !  —  let  us  think  how  many  at  this  mo 
ment  are  '  on  the  seas '  approaching  our  shores  !  Every 
hour  on  the  coasts  of  the  old  world  representatives  from 
the  different  nations  of  the  earth  are  departing  for  this  re 
public  ;  every  hour  some  vessel  crowded  with  exiles  from 
tempestuous  kingdoms  and  principalities  is  Hearing  our 
shores,  or,  while  the  '  shouting  seaman  climbs  and  furls 
the  sail '  in  our  harbor,  is  landing  its  human  freight  upon 
our  piers.  Come  along,  future  '  fellow-citizens  ! '  We 
have  thousands  of  square  miles  where  the  epidermis  of  the 
earth  has  never  been  scratched.  There  is  room  enough 
and  there  is  work  enough  for  all :  nor  on  this  side  of  the 

O 

'big  brook'  shall  any  of  you  'come  nigh  to  perish  with 
hunger.'  What  a  proud  thing  it  will  be  deemed,  by-and- 
by,  to  be  able  to  say,  '  /  am  an  American  citizen  ! ' 


SUPPOSE  you  just  run  your  eye  over  this  anecdote  of 
'  Guzzling    Pete]   a   half-witted    country   wight,   and   the 


AN    IRREGULAR    'REVIVALIST.'        191 

standing  jest  of  a  little  town  in  Connecticut,  who  came 
home  one  rainy  Saturday  night,  so  '  darkly,  deeply,  beau 
tifully  blue?  that  he  went  to  bed  with  his  hat  and  boots 
on,  and  his  old  cotton  umbrella  under  his  arm.  He  got 
up  about  two  o'clock  the  next  afternoon,  drunk  with  last 
night,  and  took  his  way  to  the  meeting-house.  Rev.  Dr. 

B was  at  his  '  iTthly,'  in  the  second  of  six  divisions 

of  a  very  comprehensive  body  of  Hopkinsian  divinity, 
when  '  Guzzling  PETE  '  entered  the  church,  with  an  e^g  in 
each  hand.  He  saw,  as  through  a  glass  darkly,  and  with 
evident  commiseration,  a  man  in  black,  very  red  in  the 
face,  for  the  day  was  oppressively  warm,  who  seemed  to 
utter  something  with  a  great  deal  of  vehemence,  while  a 
considerable  number  of  those  underneath  him  were  fast 

asleep  ;  among  them  Deacon  C ,  with   his  shiny-bald 

head  leaning  against  the  wall.  PETE,  unobserved  by  the 
minister,  balanced  his  egg,  and  with  tolerable  aim, 
plastered  -'ts  contents  directly  above  the  Deacon's  pate! 
Hearing  the  concussion,  the  worthy  divine  paused  in  his 
discourse,  and  looked  daggers  at  the  maudlin  visiter. 
'Xevermind,  uncle,'  exclaimed  the  intruder  :  'jest  you  go 
on  a-talkin';  I  Jll  keep  'em  awake  for  you!'  By  this 
time  the  congregation  were  thoroughly  aroused.  'Mr. 

L »'  sai^  tlie  reverend  pastor,  with  a  seeming  charity, 

which  in  his  mortification  he  could  scarcely  have  felt,  and, 
addressing  a  '  tiding-man,'  near  the  door,  'Mr.  L . 


19'2       SCENES    IN    A     CITY     HOSPITAL 

won't  you  have  the  kindness  to  remove  that  poor  creature 
from  the  aisle  ?  I  fear  that  he  is  sick.'  '  Sick  ? '  stam 
mered  our  qualmish  hero,  as  he  began  to  confirm  the  fears 
of  the  clergyman  by  very  active  symptoms  ;  '  s-i-c-k  ?  — 
yes,  and  it 's  enough  to  make  a  dog  sick,  to  '  sit'  under  such 
preachin1  as  your'n  :  it  's  more  'n  I  can  stand  under ! 
Yes,  take  me  out  :  the  quicker  the  better ! ' 


WE  often  pause  beneath  the  half-closed  blinds  of  some 
public  hospital,  and  picture  to  ourself  the  gloomy  and  mourn 
ful  scenes  that  are  passing  within.  The  sudden  movement  of 
a  taper,  as  its  feeble  ray  shoots  from  the  thickly-set  windows, 
until  its  light  gradually  disappears,  as  if  it  were  carried 
farther  back  into  the  room,  to  the  bed-side  of  some  suffer 
ing  patient,  is  enough  to  awaken  a  whole  crowd  of  reflec 
tions  ;  the  mere  glimmering  of  the  low-burning  lamps, 
which,  when  all  other  habitations  are  wrapped  in  darkness 
and  slumber,  denote  the  chamber  where  so  many  forms 
are  writhing  with  pain,  or  wasting  with  disease,  is  sufficient 
to  check  the  most  boisterous  merriment.  Who  can 
tell  the  anguish  of  those  weary  hours,  when  the  only 
sound  the  sick  man  hears,  is  the  disjointed  wanderings  of 
some  feverish  slumberer  near  him,  the  low  moan  of  pain, 
or  perhaps  the  muttered,  long-forgotten  prayer  of  a  dying 
man  ?  Who  but  those  who  have  felt  it,  can  imagine  the 


DUBIOUS    DEFERENCE.  193 

sense  of  loneliness  and  desolation  which  must  be  the  por 
tion  of  those  who  in  the  hour  of  dangerous  illness  are  left 
to  be  tended  by  strangers  :  for  what  hands,  be  they  ever 
so  gentle,  can  wipe  the  clammy  brow,  or  smooth  the  rest 
less  bed,  like  those  of  mother,  wife,  or  child  ? 


THERE  are  very  few  persons  in  the  Empire  State  who 
have  not  heard  of  ELISHA  WILLIAMS,  the  eminent  advo 
cate,  of  Columbia  county.  A  friend  has  just  mentioned 
to  us  an  anecdote  of  him  which  is  well  worth  recording. 

o 

He  had  been  listening  to  an  antagonist  who  was  rather  a 
dull  speaker,  and  who  had  infused  into  his  summing-up  a 
vast  deal  of  fustian.  Mr.  WILLIAMS  rose  when  he  had 
finished,  and  said  :  '  Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  if  I  did  not 
feel  strong  in  the  justice  of  my  cause,  I  should  fear  the 
effect  upon  you  of  the  eloquent  harangue  to  which  you 
have  just  listened.  That,  gentlemen,  was  a  splendid,  a 
magnificent  performance.  I  admire  that  speech,  gentle 
men  of  the  jury  —  I  always  admired  it.  I  admired  that 
speech  when  I  was  a  boy  ! '  It  is  needless  perhaps  to  add, 
that  this  compliment  was  not  lost  upon  the  jury, 


*  THERE  goes  the  old  Dutchman  who  had  the  danger 
ous  geese ! '  exclaimed  a  friend  in  the  country  the  other 


194  A    DUTCHMAN    'DONE.' 

day,  calling  our  attention  to  a  Dutchman  of  the  oldest 
'school,'  who  was  walking  slowly  along  the  road.  We 
asked  an  explanation  :  '  Why,  when  the  Yankees  first  began 
to  settle  in  here,  he  was  joined  one  morning  by  a  slab- 
sided  specimen  of  'em,  as  he  was  picking  up  the  quills 
that  his  geese  had  dropped,  in  their  chattering  morning 
waddles,  by  the  edges  of  an  oblong  pond  at  the  road-side. 
Presently  one  of  the  geese  stretched  out  his  long  neck  at 
the  Yankee,  who  started  and  ran  as  if  a  mad  dog  were  at 
his  heels.  '  I  dold  him,'  said  the  old  Dutchman,  '  not  to  be 
avraid  ;  dat  de  geese  would  n't  hurt  um  any ;  but  de  geese 
did  run  after  him  dough,  clear  over  de  hill  a-ways ;  and 
none  of  ?em  would  n't  give  um  no  rest  any  more,  when 
ever  he  come  along  the  sdreet.  I  p'lieve  dey  had  a  shbite 
ag'in  de  Yankees.  Mein  GOTT  !  it  's  curious,  dough,  but 
de  geess  always  went  away,  and  did  n't  come  back  any 
more!'  The  secret  of  that  wras,  that  the  Yankee,  who 
was  so  afraid  of  the  Dutchman's  geese,  had  thrown  out 
kernels  of  corn,  among  which  was  one  with  a  fish-hook 
attached.  Once  swallowed,  the  angry  goose  was  soon  in 
tow  after  the  flying  fugitive. 


4  TFIE  subject  of  the  following  anecdote,'  writes  a 
friend,  '  is  an  old  and  respectable  physician,  who  is  now  a 
very  strenuous  temperance  man,  although  in  his  young  days 


'VISIBLE    PRESENCE''    OF    DEATH.      195 

lie  sometimes  '  patronised  the  groceries '  over  much.  On 
one  occasion,  having  indulged  very  freely  in  a  variety  oi 
spirituous  decoctions  with  some  boon-companions,  he 
mounted  his  mare  and  started  for  home.  He  had  not 
gone  far  before  the  inconsiderate  '  commingling  of  spirits ' 
in  his  stomach  gave  rise  to  such  a  furious  rebellion  that  he 
was  fain  to  dismount  and  come  to  an  anchor  ao-ainst  a 
large  log  by  the  road-side,  where  he  commenced  a  process 
of  upheaval  that  was  truly  alarming.  While  engaged  in 
these  spasmodic  efforts  at  relief,  he  was  accosted  by  a  trav 
eller,  who,  with  true  Yankee  solicitude,  enquired  what  was 
the  matter.  The  inebriate,  in  an  interval  of  his  paroxysms, 
gruffly  replied,  that  he  '  had  traded  horses,  and  was  very 
sick  of  his  bargain  ! ' 

'  THERE  is  perhaps  no  feeling  of  our  nature  so  vague, 
so  complicated,  so  mysterious,  as  that  with  which  we  look 
upon  the  cold  remains  of  our  fellow-mortals.  The  dignity 
with  which  DEATH  invests  the  meanest  of  his  victims  in 
spires  us  with  an  awe  that  no  living  thing  can  create. 
The  monarch  on  his  throne  sinks  beneath  the  be^ar  in 
his  shroud.  The  marble  features,  the  powerless  hand,  the 
stiffened  limb  —  oh,  who  can  contemplate  these  with  feelings 
that  can  be  defined !  These  are  the  mockery  of  all  our 
hopes  and  fears  — our  fondest  love,  our  fellest  hate.  Can 
it  be  that  we  now  shrink  almost  with  horror  from  the 


196     'VISIBLE    PRESENCE'    OF    DEATH. 

touch  of  the  hand  that  but  yesterday  was  fondly  clasped 
in  our  own?  Is  that  tongue,  whose  accents  even  now 
dwell  in  our  ears,  for  ever  chained  in  the  silence  of  death  ? 
Those  dark  and  heavy  eye-lids,  are  they  for  ever  to  seal  up 
in  darkness  the  eyes  whose  glance  no  earthly  power  could 
restrain  ?  And  the  SPIRIT  which  animated  that  clay, 
where  is  it  now  ?  Does  it  witness  our  grief?  does  it  share 
our  sorrow  ?  Or  is  the  mysterious  tie  that  linked  it  with 
mortality  broken  forever  ?  And  remembrances  of  earthly 
scenes,  are  they  to  the  enfranchised  spirit  as  the  morning 
dream  or  the  fading  cloud  ? '  Alas  !  '  all  that  we  know  is, 
nothing  can  be  known,'  until  we  ourselves  shall  have  passed 
the  dread  ordeal ! 


NUMBER    XIXE. 

A  JOKE   IX    'FULL   BLOSSOM*  :     A    'ROUGH    GUESS  '  :      COMPARATIVE    LONGEVITY  : 

SCENE  AT  SING-SING  STATE  PRISON:    THE  AET  OF  MOWING  —  ENVY  OK  CITT 
•ARTISTS':    A  •  SHOF.T-SIGIITED  '  LANDLORD  :    MOCK-AUCTIONS:    'ORIGINAL 

PICTURE '-DEALERS  :     AN    AMATEUR-FISHERMAN:      CRABS,    ANU     THEIR    WATS; 
A    'CONTINGENT  REMAINDER':   THE    'LAST   BITTER   HOUR':   IRISH   '  COUSINS  * : 

A  CAREFUL  TINKER:   'EXERCISED  LN  PRAYER.' 

HOW  BLOSSOM  of  Cananclaigua  did  love  a  joke  for  the 
joke's  sake  !  We  must  mention  one.  Lobsters  were 
formerly  quite  scarce  at  Cananclaigua,  on  account  of  their 
not  being  found  in  the  waters  of  Canandaigua  Lake,  nor  in 
the  streams  circumjacent.  BLOSSOM  had  been  to  the  city, 
procured  a  fine  one,  packed  it  carefully,  and  took  it  home 
with  him.  The  fact  was  duly  proclaimed,  the  lobster 
boiled,  his  friends  invited  —  and  the  supper  came  off. 
There  was  a  quaint,  dogmatical  old  fellow,  a  shoe-maker 
named  JOHNSON,  an  authority  in  the  village,  who  had 
lost  all  his  teeth  but  two,  and  those  were  in  opposite  sec 
tions  of  his  mouth.  He  had  never  seen  a  lobster,  nor  had 
the  slightest  idea  of  what  kind  of  an  animal  it  was. 
BLOSSOM,  tipping  the  wink  to  his  confreres,  helped  him  to 
one  of  the  claws,  '  as  large  as  a  stone,'  and  about  as  hard. 
v  How  do  you  eat  the  'tarnal  thino;,  anv  how } '  said 


198        A    JOKE    IN     ;FULL    BLOSSOM.' 

JOHNSON.  'O  go  right  ahead  with  it,' replied  BLOSSOM, 
'just  as  it  is  :  need  n't  be  afraid  of  it:  do  n't  want  any 
seasoning.' 

After  very  diligent  but  somewhat  protracted  efforts, 
the  old  man  succeeded  in  drilling  a  hole,  and  establishing  a 
suck,  got  a  taste  of  the  interior.  Seeing  this  position  of 
affairs,  BLOSSOM,  with  the  most  imperturbable  gravity,  in 
quired  :  '  Well,  how  do  you  get  along  ?  —  how  do  you 
like  it  ? '  '  Waal,'  said  the  old  man,  '  I  kind  o'  like  the 
peth  on  't ! '  The  company  only  smiled  ;  they  did  n't 
laugh,  until  the  old  gentleman  left :  and  he  do  n't  know 
any  thing  about  it  to  this  day  —  they  were  so  polite  and 
well  bred ! 

BLOSSOM'S  spirit  must  linger  about  Canandaigua  yet. 
A  friend  of  ours  stopped  at  his  hotel  a  short  time  since, 
and  took  his  seat  near  the  blazing  fire,  and  formed  one  of 
quite  a  large  circle  of  smokers.  Presently  a  fancifully- 
dressed  young  gentleman  entered,  and  stepping  within  the 
circle,  planted  himself  directly  in  front  of  one  of  the  gen 
tlemen  enjoying  his  Havana,  who  was  expectorating  in 
sundry  directions,  between  his  legs,  on  either  side,  in 
curves,  and,  as  it  were,  in  a  fit  of  desperation,  after  accu 
mulating  a  full  supply,  in  a  direct  straight  line.  The 
young  dandy,  apprehending  the  discharge,  moved  one 
side.  'Don't  stir,  Sir ;  don't  disturb  yourself,' said  the 
smoker:  'I  think  T  can  spit  through  you  !' 


COMPARATIVE    LONGEVITY.  199 


A  LEGAL  friend  of  ours  the  other  day  was  about  en 
tering  a  haberdasher's  shop  in  Broadway,  when  a  young 
buck,  with  a  large  moustache  and  small  income,  born  like 
JAFFIER  with  '  elegant  desires,'  drove  up  a  pair  of  spank 
ing  bays,  glittering  with  their  splendid  caparison.  *  Ah, 

G .'  said  he,  "  how  de  do  \  —  how  de  do  i     How  d' 

you  like  me  ho'ses  \  Fine  animals,  but  very  costly. 
What  do  you  think  I  gave  for  the  pair  V  'I  guess  you 
gave  your  note  ! '  said  G .  *  Good  inawning  1 '  re 
sponded  the  blood ;  '  good  mawning  : ' 


EVERY  thing  is  comparative.  What  is  '  a  long  life,' 
for  example  ?  How  old  was  METHUSELAH  before  he  had 
4  sowed  his  wild  oats  i '  What  time  did  he  leave  off  wear 
ing  frocks  ?  He  may  have  been  a  '  hard  boy '  at  four 
hundred,  and  perhaps  exhibited  infant  precocity  even  in 
his  hundredth  year !  '  At  the  river  Hypanis,  (we  quote 
from  the  *  Tusculan  Questions,')  which  on  the  one  side 
flows  into  the  Pontus,  ARISTOTLE  says  there  are  little  ani 
mals  grow,  which  live  only  one  day.  Those  then  that  die 
at  the  eighth  hour,  die  at  an  advanced  age ;  those  that 
live  until  sunset,  at  a  very  old  age.  Compare  our  longest 
life  with  eternity,  and  we  shall  be  found  almost  in  the 
same  brevity  of  life  as  these  little  animals  are  ! " 


200  SING- SING    STATE    PRISON. 


IF  the  unhappy  young  man  who  has  recently  filled 
the  journals  of  the  metropolis  with  the  details  of  his  folly 
and  crime  could,  before  yielding  to  temptation,  have 
looked  in  upon  the  state-prisoners  at  Sing-Sing,  as  we  did 
the  other  day,  surely  he  would  have  shrunk  back  from 
the  vortex  before  him.  Poor  wretches,  in  their  best  es 
tate  !  How  narrow  their  cells  ;  how  ceaseless  their  toil ; 
what  a  negation  of  comfort  their  whole  condition  !  It 
was  a  sweltering  August  day,  breathless  and  oppressive ; 
but  there  was  no  rest  for  the  eight  hundred  unhappy  con 
victs  who  plied  their  never-ending  tasks  within  those  walls. 
Stealthy  glances  from  half-raised  eyes  ;  pale  countenances, 
stamped  with  meek  submission,  or  gleaming  with  power 
less  hate  or  impotent  malignity  ;  and  '  hard  labor '  in  the 
fullest  sense,  were  the  main  features  of  the  still-life  scene, 
as  we  passed  through  the  several  >vork-shops.  But  what 
a  picture  was  presented,  as  their  occupants  came  swarming 
into  the  open  court-yard  at  the  sound  of  the  bell,  to  pro 
ceed  to  their  cells  with  their  dinner !  From  the  thick  atmo 
sphere  of  the  carpet  and  rug  shops,  leaving  the  clack  of 
shuttles,  the  dull  thump  of  the  '  weaver's  beam,'  and  the 
long,  confused  perspective  of  cords,  and  pullies,  and  pat 
terns,  and  multitudinous  '  harness,'  they  poured  forth ; 
from  murky  smithys,  streamed  the  imps  of  VULCAN,  grim 
as  the  dark  recesses  from  which  they  emerged  ;  from  doors 


SIXG-SIXG     STATE-PRISON.  201 

which  open  upon  interminable  rows  of  close-set  benches 
burst  forth  the  knights  of  the  awl  and  hammer ;  the  rub- 
a-dub  of  the  cooper's  mallet,  the  creak  of  his  shaving- 
knife,  were  still ;  the  stone-hammer  was  silent ;  and  the 
court-yard  was  full  of  that  striped  crew  !  GOD  of  com 
passion  !  what  a  sight  it  was,  to  see  that  motley  multitude 
take  up,  in  gangs,  their  humiliating  march  !  Huo-e  ne 
groes,  weltering  in  the  heat,  were  interspersed  among 
'the  lines;'  hands  crimson  with  murder  rested  upon  the 
shoulders  of  beings  young  alike  in  years  and  crime ;  the 
victim  of  bestiality  pressed  agianst  the  heart-broken  tool 
of  the  scathless  villain ;  and  all  were  blended  in  one  re 
volting  mass  of  trained  soldiers  of  guilt;  their  thousand 
legs  moving  as  the  leg  of  one  man  :  all  in  silence,  save 
the  peculiar  sound  of  the  sliding  tread,  grating  not  less 
upon  the  ear  than  the  ground.  One  by  one,  they  took 
their  wooden  pails  of  dingy  and  amphibious-looking  food, 
and  passed  on,  winding  up  the  stairs  of  the  different  sto 
ries,  and  streaming  along  the  narrow  corridors  to  their 
solitary  cells. 

It  was  altogether  too  much  for  the  tender  heart  of 
poor  ELLA,  this  long  procession  of  the  gangs.  As  they 
passed  on  in  slow  succession,  her  lip  began  to  quiver ;  and 
one  after  another  drops  of  pity  rolled  down  her  cheeks  : 
4  tears,  silent  tears ; '  but  they  will  be  held  in  remem 
brance. 


202  THE    ART    OF    MOWING. 


REVIVED  a  good  many  pleasant  memories  to-day,  in  a 
walk  along  the  Croton  aqueduct,  to  the  charming  *  Sunny- 
side'  of  GEOFFREY  CRAYON.  Along  where  we  once  so 
often  walked  on  the  same  agreeable  errand,  there  have 
lately  sprung  up  two  or  three  small  villages.  We  found  farm 
ers  mowing  the  aqueduct  in  several  places  where  it  runs 
through  meadows;  clipping  its  steep  slopes  to  the  very 
top.  '  Old  KNICK.'  went  down  the  grassy  declivity,  and 
asked  permission  of  a  farmer,  a  'nobleman  of  nature,'  to 
mow  a  little.  The  favor  was  readily  granted.  With  the 
memory  of  a  recent  achievement  of  the  same  kind  freshly 
in  mind,  the  jotter-down  hereof  addressed  himself  to  his 
pleasurable  task:  first  whetting  off  the  scythe,  'from  heel 
to  p'int,'  after  the  approved  manner  of  that  preparatory 
exercise,  and  then  straddling  forth  to  the  mowing.  After 
a  few  vigorous  cuts  with  the  scythe,  we  became  aware  of 
some  doubts  in  the  mind  of  the  gentleman  whose  instru 
ment  we  were,  as  we  fancied,  very  dexterously  wielding. 
His  first  words  mortified  us.  We  were  doing  our  best. 
We  looked  for  encouragement :  we  may  say,  indeed,  that 
we  fully  expected  applause.  Judge,  then,  what  must  have 
been  our  surprise  to  hear  these  words,  uttered  in  a  tone 
which  was  scarcely  less  ungrateful  than  the  language 
which  conveyed  the  '  expression  of  the  idea  by  articulate 
sounds  : '  'You  do  n't  know  nothin'  about  mowin' ! '  We 


ENVY    OF    CITY    'ARTISTS.'  203 

thought  we  must  have  misconceived  the  observation,  and 
said  :  '  Is  n't  that  cut  close  ? '  '  You  do  n't  know  nothin' 
about  rnowin' !'  was  now  repeated,  in  language  too  plain 
to  be  misunderstood  :  *  sart'in,  you  cut  dust  enough  ;  too 
clust,  if  any  thing ;  in  our  style  o'  mowin',  in  these  parts, 
we  do  n't  generally  care  to  slice  the  stones  off  like  a  cow- 
cumber.  You  cant  mow  !  Fust  place,  you  stand  too  fur 
off.  You  'd  break  your  back  in  an  hour,  that  way  o' 
mowin'.  You  do  n't  come  up  to  your  work  :  why  do  n't 
you  come  up  to  your  work  \ '  Come  up  to  our  work  !  — 
*  marry,  come  up  ! '  We  went  out  of  that  meadow,  after 
these  uncalled-for  remarks,  with  a  very  indifferent  opinion 
of  the  style  of  mowing  in  that  neighborhood.  We  did  n't 
comment  unkindly  upon  their  style  of  mowing,  although 
it  was  essentially  different  from  ours  ;  then  why  should 
they  so  flippantly  criticise  ours  ?  We  did  our  best,  in  our 
manner.  We  left  the  rows  of  sweet-scented  hay -cocks, 
the  loaded  hay-wagons,  the  horses  switching  their  tails  and 
munching  the  new-cut  grass,  with  a  feeling  of  sincere  re 
gret,  that  mere  envy  of  so  simple  a  thing  as  that  of  a  su 
perior  style  of  cutting  grass  with  a  scythe  should  be  per 
mitted  to  embitter  the  thoughts  of  the  two  husbandmen, 
who,  for  some  reason  or  other,  we  fancied  to  be  sneeringly 
jocose  between  themselves  as  we  came  away.  We  inferred 
so,  ;  from  a  remark  they  made.'  '  Guess  he  thought  he 
2ould  mow  —  he  seemed  to!' 


204      A    'SHORT-SIGHTED'    LANDLORD 

We  had  many  delightful  things  to  remember,  as 
we  came  away  from  Sunnyside,  by  the  dusty  and  noisy 
Hudson  River  Rail-road,  the  next  morning  ;  a  pro- 
protracted  sitting  with  our  host,  and  other  the  like  agree 
able  pereons,  with  much  memorable  discourse  ;  a  pleasant 
sleep  in  the  '  spare  room '  for  a  spare  man,  interrupted 
only  by  a  visit,  in  the  '  dead  waste  and  middle  of  the 
night,'  from  the  ghost  of  the  lady  who  '  died  of  love  and 
green  apples '  in  the  old  VAN  TASSEL  mansion,  etc. ;  but 
our  pleasant  reminiscences  were  interrupted,  and  our  feel 
ings  '  hurt/  by  the  slighting  remarks  of  those  Tarrytown 
farmers.  Agriculture  can  never  reach  any  great  perfec 
tion,  we  fear,  along  the  line  of  the  Croton  aqueduct,  be 
tween  DOBB  his  Ferry  and  'Sunnyside  Cottage.7  The 
farmers  are  too  conceited  —  too  much  wedded  to  old  ob 
servances. 


THAT  was  a  somewhat  cool  reply  which  was  given  by 
a  boarder  to  a  landlord  in  San  Francisco,  when  he  asked 
him  for  the  'amount  of  his  little  bill/  'You  have  now, 
my  dear  Sir,  been  boarding  with  me  for  a  month,  and  I 
have  not  troubled  you  ;  but  I  am  now  seriously  in  want 
of  the  money.  Every  thing  I  purchase  for  the  house  is  at 
a  hig'h  figure ;.'  and  I  really  can't  afford  to  lie  out  of  your 
bill  any  longer.'  '  Can't  sd-ford  it : '  exclaimed  the  delin- 


MOCK- AUCTIO-NS.  205 

quent ;  '  then  why  the  d 1  do  n't  you  sell  out  to  some 

body  that  can  afford  it  ?     That 's  your  best  way  ! ' 


HAS  the  city  reader  ever  passed  along  Chatham 
Square,  and  through  the  street  from  which  it  derives  its 
name,  without  hearing1  the  eternal  din  of  hammers  closing 
bargains  up,  and  the  uproarious  vociferations  of  the  opera 
tors  ?  —  noises  that,  breaking  upon  the  ear  of  a  passer-by, 
who  may  be  indulging  the  luxury  of  his  own  quiet 
thoughts,  suddenly  recall  vivid  ideas  of  Bedlam :  an  im 
pression  that  is  amply  confirmed,  by  a  glance  at  the  slop's 
interior,  where  stands  a  lonely  man,  foaming  at  the  mouth, 
sawing  the  air  with  his  hand,  and  making  the  dirty  coun 
ter  before  him  to  resound  again  with  the  noise  of  his  mal 
let.  The  street  'crieur'  is  of  another  class.  You  shall 
see  him,  even  of  a  cold  winter  morning,  buttoned  to  the 
throat,  with  a  waistcoat  or  a  pair  of  unwhisperables  whisk 
ing  about  on  a  long  stick,  which  he  holds  in  his  hand,  while 
he  vociferates  at  the  pedestrian  auditory,  who  sometimes 
glance  at  him  in  passing,  *  Twent' —  ?five  !  Thirt' —  thirt' 
—  thirt'-five,  for  them  pants!'  Much  practice  has  mad* 
him  an  automaton,  to  all  intents  and  purposes.  But  the 
most  distinguished  of  auctioneers,  is  the  vender  of  oil-paint 
ings  ;  and  the  class  has  greatly  multiplied,  since  it  has  been 
ascertained  that  at  least  an  hundred  '  original  pictures,'  on 


206       -ORIGINAL    PICTURE'-DEALERS. 

one  arid  the  same  subject,  and  by  the  same  renowned 
master,  may  be  sold  here  from  one  auction  mart.  GOLD 
SMITH  speaks  of  a  man  who,  having  disposed  of  a  petrified 
lobster,  which  he  had  accidently  found,  at  a  great  bargain, 
straightway  set  about  the  manufacture  of  the  article,  and 
drove  a  wholesale  trade  in  that  unique  line.  The  picture- 
vender  acts  upon  this  hint,  and  he  succeeds  equally  well. 
He  deals  in  bugs,  well  preserved ;  hum-bugs,  of  the  first 
water.  HOGARTH,  \ve  remember,  has  a  picture  of  Time, 
with  a  pipe  in  his  mouth,  whiffing  smoky  antiquity  upon 
a  fresh  painting.  Your  modern  picture-venders  better  un 
derstand  the  matter.  We  have  recently  read,  in  some  of 
our  periodicals,  a  brief  account  of  the  knowledge  of  art 
and  the  great  artists  which  they  display,  but  it  did  not 
come  up  to  the  reality.  The  great  successor  of  Madame 
MALAPROP,  who  flourished  in  England  some  ten  or  twelve 
years  ago,  could  alone,  were  she  among  us,  do  justice  to  the 
autioneer  of  modern  paintings  by  the  old  masters.  *  Here,' 
he  exclaims,  holding  up  a  rather  confused  and  mottled 
composition,  '  is  a  splendid  pictur',  by  a  very  ancient  mas 
ter  of  arts.  You  see  the  frame  is  old  and  worm-eaten,  and 
there  is  the  year  '  1528  '  on  the  back  of  it.  It  is  the  in 
terior  of  a  cathedral  in  Spain,  or  else  in  Italy.  They  are 
a-worshippin'  inside ;  the  priest,  up  by  the  candles,  is  very 
much  incensed  with  the  smoke  that  the  boys  is  a-whirliu1 
round  his  head  ;  and  the  quire  's  a-singin'  a  tedium  :  but 


ORIGINAL    PICTURE'  -DEALERS.       207 


look  at  your  catalogues  ;  it  's  all  in  them.'  ^his  pictur' 
was  exhibited  fifty  years  in  the  Vacuum  at  Rome,  where 
the  pope  keeps  his  celebrated  bulls.  What  's  bid  for  't  \ 
Is  five  hundred  dollars  named,  to  start  it  2  Five  hun 
dred  do  I  hear  ?  '  This  is  struck  down  to  a  spectator  at 
the  farther  end  of  the  room,  and  another  rises  to  view, 
with  two  naked  figures  in  the  fore-ground  :  backed  by 
trees  that  are  very,  very  green,  and  skies  extremely  blue. 
*  This  gem  of  paiuting,  gen'lemen,  is  a  chef-dowver  of  DE 
BUFF  ;  his  celebrated  '  Adam  and  Eve  expulsed  from  Pa 
radise.'  Is  three  hundred  dollars  bid  for  this?  It  was 
sold  for  six  hundred  guineas  in  London  !  Is  fifty  dollars 
bid?  Fifty  —  fifty  —  going  I  Yours,  Mr.  SUCKEDIX.' 
This  was  followed  by  a  painting  which  seemed  to  repre 
sent  a  street-view.  *  Here,  now,  is  a  treasure  !  It  is  a 
scene  in  the  su-burbs  of  the  city  of  Venice,  that  a  gen'le- 
man,  who  was  here  to  see  it  this  morning,  called  the  "Place 
Louis  Quinzy,'  named  after  a  French  officer  in  XAPO- 
LEON'S  army,  who  caught  cold  a-travellin'  in  the  same 
stage-coach  at  night  with  a  wet  nurse,  and  died  of  the 
quinzy  sore-throat.  I  did  n't  hear  of  this  in  time  to  put 
it  in  the  catalogue  ;  but  they  say  the  first  thing  a  traveller 
does,  when  he  gets  to  Venice,  is  to  hire  a  horse,  and  ride 
out  to  look  at  it.  How  much  for  it  ?  '  The  piece  went 
for  fifty  dollars.  *  You  will  find  it,'  said  the  auctioneer,  *  a 
v-ry  cheap  pictur  '  —  and  he  did. 


208  AN    AMATEUR-FISHERMAN. 

AVe  remember  to  have  seen  an  anecdote  of  an  enthusi 
astic  but  ignorant  lover  of  old  paintings,  of  whose  mania 
advantage  was  taken  by  every  huckster  of  pictures  for 
leagues  around  him  ;  and  his  love  of  being  deceived,  may 
be  gathered  from  the  following  colloquy  with  an  amateur 
friend  :  '  Come  up  and  see  me  to-morrow,  my  boy,  and 
/  Ul  show  you  a  picture  that  is  a  picture  —  an  undoubted 
original.  I  want  your  unbiassed  judgment  of  it.  TITIAN 
SMITH  was  over  to  look  at  it,  yesterday,  and  had  the  im 
pudence  to  say  that  it  was  a  copy  —  the  ignorant  ram  us  ! 
By  JOVE  !  I  'd  like  any  other  man  to  tell  me  so  !  Curse 
me,  if  I  should  n't  be  tempted  to  knock  him  down  !  But 
come  up  to-morrow,  and  give  us  your  candid  opinion  of 
its  merits.  I  'd  like  to  know  what  you  think  of  it.'  There 
can  be  no  doubt,  we  presume,  that  the  painting  was  not 
considered  a  copy. 

UP  and  away  over  the  superb  New- York  and  Erie 
Rail-road,  if  you  would  have  a  trip  that  is  better  worth 
making  than  any  one  of  the  same  distance  out  of  Gotham. 
The  blue  mountains,  swelling  hills,  and  fertile  vales  of 
Rockland  and  Orange ;  the  vast  embankments  and  rocky 
ravines,  cut  by  the  hands  of  man  through  the  lofty  Sha- 
wangunk ;  the  terrific  '  Glass  House  Rocks,'  the  rushing 
Delaware  and  the  lonely  Susquehanna,  these  of  them 
selves  would  well  repay  the  traveller.  Much  good  sport  had 


A  -\    AMATEUR-FISHERMAN.  209 

our  pleasant  party,  fishing  in  the  Calicoon  and  Shinglekill. 
One   there  was  of  us,  a  '  personable '   youth,   with  silky 
moustache,  and  'dark-locks  flowing  free,'  who  would  have 
inveigled  more  trout  to  taste  his  hook,  but  for  his  habili 
ments.      The  '  fashionable   plaid '   '  clock '-  stockings,  of  a 
pink  stripe,  and  paten t-leather  shoes  adorned  his  lower 
members  :  hence,  accoutred  as  he  was,  '  Old  KNICK.,'   '  in 
rustic  garb,   thick-booted  to  the  thighs,'  listening  to  his 
urgent  solicitations  to  be  borne  across  the  deep  and  boil 
ing  brook,  did  essay  to  do  that  same.     i  As  JExEAs  did 
ANCHISES  bear,'  he  took  the  youth  upon  his  back  and  set 
forth  for  the  other  side.    Xow  it  so  chanced  (quite  as  unex 
pectedly  as  the  elder  WELLE R'S  upset  of  the  coach-load  of 
voters)  that  when  arrived  at  the  deepest  and  most  tumultu 
ous  part  of  the  stream,  an  unlucky  misstep,  and  some  little 
fatigue,  compelled  the    'writer  hereof,'    althouo-h  against 
vehement  remonstrance,  to  set  his  burthen  down  !     Have 
n't  been  so  '  sorry '  for  several  years  as  we  were  at  that 
1  accident,'  and  so  we  remarked  at  the  time,  but  with  very 
little  effect,  we  thought,  to  the  '  complainant.'  after  he  had 
scrambled  up  the  bank,  through   the  tangled  bushes,  and 
sat  croaking  on  an  old  log,  a  *  dein'd  moist,  unpleasant 
body!' 


BEEN  4  a-crabbing '  to-day,  off  the  little  narrow  dock 
at  DOBB'S.    What  'game'  they  are,  those  sprawling  shell- 


210  CRABS         A  N  1)      THE!  R       W  A  V  8 . 

fish  !  They  '11  bite  any  thing,  from  an  old  rag  up  to  a 
ragged  piece  of  meat.  They  are  not  '  what  you  may  call 
a  han'sum  critter : '  they  cannot  be  deemed  an  '  orna 
ment  to  society.'  They  are  better  '  as  a  meat'  than  as  a 
personal  friend  and  companion,  This  'red  right  hand' 
bears  witness  of  that.  You  cannot  touch  a  crab's  bet 
ter  nature:  'leastways'  we  could  n't.  The  one  we 
tried  we  thought  a  model-specimen;  but  he  pinched, 
scratched,  '  dug  in,'  and  '  held  on  : '  upon  us,  too,  who  de 
fended  his  whole  race  down  at  Fire-Island  one  day  —  one 
Fourth  of  July.  There  was  a  broad  shallow  tub  of  water 
that  was  full  of  them,  in  the  shade  of  the  house ;  and 
there  they  floated  and  sprawled,  in  true  '  independence ' 
fashion.  When  their  claws  were  extended,  wags  of  boys 
would  set  fire-crackers  on  end  in  their  joints,  which  they 
would  firmly  grasp,  '  right  end  up  with  care.'  Into  the 
claws  of  a  big  lobster,  floating  in  their  midst,  a  '  TRITON 
arnono-  minnows,'  the  boys  placed  an  erect  wooden  pistol, 
with  a  slow  match,  made  of  a  '  cracker,'  having  immedi 
ate  connection  with  the  touch-hole.  This  was  the  '  great 
gun '  of  the  marine  party.  This  masked  piscatorial  float 
ing-battery  was  'operated'  at  one  and  the  same  time,  and 
a  victim  dropped  (to  the  bottom  of  the  tub)  at  every  suc 
cessive  discharge.  We  thought  this  cruel  sport  at  that 
time  ;  but  '  by  this  hand.'  we  think  now  that  it  '  served 
'em  right ! ' 


A      'CONTINGENT      REMAINDER.'  211 


WE  have  n't  heard  in  a  good  while  of  a  more  amus 
ing  take-iu  than  was  performed  by  an  auctioneer  in  a 
small  village  of  '  Down  East.'  A  fiddle  had  just  been 
bidden  off  at  a  'high  figure'  by  a  'cute  Yankee ;  but  the 
auctioneer  was  cuter  still.  '  How  much,'  said  he,  aftei 
passing  the  buyer  his  purchase,  how  much  '  'moffered  for 
the  bow?  —  how  much?  —  ho\v  much  'moffered  for  THE 
BOW?'  'Hello!  you!  —  that's  mine!'1  said  the  aston 
ished  purchaser.  '  Wai,  that  is  rich  ! '  replied  the  auc 
tioneer  — '  decidedly  rich  !  Guess  you  must  be  from  the 
ked'ntry.  Who  bids  for  the  bow  ?  How  much  'moffered 

;  for  the  bow?  —  how  much?  how  much  for  the  bow?  A- 
na£  uaf,  naf,  naf :  Pass  up  your  change,  you  lazy  devil : 

[:  you  would  n't  a-come  in,  \\pect,  except  to  git  eout  o'  the 
sun.  Guess  you  must  be  from  the  ked'ntry.  How  much 
'moffered  for  the  bow  ?'  The  bow  was  finally  bid  off  by  a 
shrewd  by-stander,  who  saw  a  chance  for  a  little  *  spec,' 
and  sold  to  the  victim  who  had  bought  the  fiddle,  at  a  large 
advance  on  the  original  cost. 


To  be  oh  earth  l  no  more  ; '  to  be  buried  in  the  cold 
ground  and  forgotten  ;  to  solve  the  great  mystery  of  the 
grave;  how -we  shrink  from  it  !—••  how  the  best  start  ap 
palled  at  the  thought  !  The  '  last  time,'  too,  how  these 


'212          THE    'LAST    BITTER    HOUR.' 

two  words  fall  upon  the  susceptible  heart !  To  us  this 
thought  is  so  impressive,  that  if,  on  leaving  an  apartment 
in  some  dwelling  that  we  may  never  visit  again,  the  idea 
occurs  to  us  that  we  are  leaving  it  for  the  last  time,  we  re 
turn  at  once  to  give  the  lie  to  our  fears  ;  and  so  in  bidding 
farewell  to  a  friend,  if  we  are  reminded  by  this  spectre  of 
'  the  last  time]  we  make  it  a  point  to  see  him  once  more, 
and  bid  him  again,  as  if  by  accident,  a  hasty  and  less 
formal  adieu.  It  is  astonishing  how  this  idea  of  death  will 
permeate  the  brain.  Looking,  for  example,  at  a  clock,  yov 
wonder  when  that  hour-hand  or  that  minute-hand  shab 
mark  the  end  of  your  pilgrimage  ;  when  each  shall  stop ; 
when  with  you  '  time  shall  be  no  longer,'  and  '  the  shadow 
shall  go  back  upon  the  dial.'  And  as  you  think  of  this, 
you  recall  the  thousand  places,  in  all  changes  of  the  sea 
sons,  where  thoughts  of  '  the  last  bitter  hour '  have  come 
upon  you :  in  the  old  wildernesses  ;  by  the  solemn  shore  of 
ocean,  where  silent  and  thoughtful  you  have  walked  alone ; 
or  gazing  from  some  lofty  mountain-top  at  the  great  sun 
in  the  brightness  of  his  rising,  or  cloud-curtained,  sinking 
slowly  in  the  evening  west ;  or  at  the  moon  careering  in 
the  firmament  of  night,  with  all  her  attendant  stars  :  all 
these,  ever-living  and  moving,  and  full  of  life  though  they 
be,  have  reminded  us  a  thousand  times  of  death.  Yet 
'  GOD  tempers  the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb : '  and  HE  less 
ens  the  dread  of  the  Destroyer  as  we  gradually  approach 


IRISH    -COUSINS.'  213 

his  dark  domain.  We  do  not  drop  at  once  into  sleep, 
that  'calm  relative  of  death,'  but  as  slumber  creeps  gradu 
ally  upon  us,  and  one  by  one  the  senses  yield  to  its  sway, 
so  Death,  the  antagonist  of  wakeful  life,  who  walks  his 
unceasing  rounds,  and  sooner  or  later  stops  at  every  man's 
door,  lulls  us  by  slow  degrees  into  that  sleep  which  can 
know  no  waking,  till  earth  and  sea '  heave  at  the  trump  of 
GOD!' 

DID  you  ever  know  an  Irish  servant  that  had  n't  a 
dozen  '  cousins  ? '  A  friend  of  ours  says  that  he  once  for 
bade  them  his  kitchen  :  but  it  was  of  no  use.  They 
came,  and  when  he  came,  they  were  concealed.  His 
kitchen-chimney  smoked  one  day,  he  knew  not  wherefore. 
He  knows  now.  He  says  a  kitchen-chimney  will  smoke 
when  there  is  a  journeyman-baker  up  the  flue!  This 
seems  reasonable. 

DURING  the  war  of  1812  it  chanced  that  an  invasion 
was  expected  in  the  town  of  Lyme,  situated  at  the  mouth 
of  the  Connecticut  river.  The  '  spirit  of  the  times '  had 
previously  manifested  itself  in  militia-gatherings  and  or 
ganizations  ;  and  the  individual  who  had  undertaken  to 
discipline  the  rustics  in  the  art  of  war  was  one  Captain 
TINKER,  who  had  advanced  his  company  to  a  high  state  of 
4  theoretical  practice,'  through  the  aid  of  broom-sticks  and 


214  A    CAREFUL    TINKER. 

corn-stalks,  interspersed  here  and  there  with  a  rusty  old 
4  Queen's-arra.'  Well,  several  ferocious  and  determined 
'  parades '  were  executed,  in  anticipation  of  the  enemy's 
advent.  Balls  were  cast,  guns  scoured,  flints  picked,  and 
the  '  troops '  were  set  to  work  in  digging  a  trench  which 
should  command  the  entrance  of  the  river,  under  the  su 
pervision  of  Colonel  S ,  who  was  a  veteran  of  the 

revolution.  It  was  not  long  before  some  gun-boats  were 
seen  approaching,  closely  followed  by  two  English  frigates : 
and  as  they  came  within  range,  a  shot  or  two  was  fired. 
The  '  troops '  were  all  duly  entrenched ;  and  thrust 
through  their  embankment,  the  muzzles  of  two  culverins, 
fully  charged  with  death-dealing  materiel,  stood  4  grinning 
grim  defiance  1  to  foreign  invasion,  and  awaiting  the  charge. 
But  at  this  juncture  our  doughty  captain  was  not  to  be 
found.  The  valiant  colonel  had  ridden  up  and  down  the 
lines  in  vain  in  search  of  him :  but  at  length  he  espied  in 
the  distance  a  dirt-covered  head  bobbing  up  and  down  oc 
casionally  from  the  ground,  whose  '  continuations '  were 
evidently  busily  engaged  in  finding  the  bottom  of  a  deep 
hole.  In  the  summer-tide  of  passion,  the  colonel  rode  up 
to  the  spot  and  exclaimed :  '  What  the  devil  are  you  do 
ing  in  that  hole,  Captain  TINKER  ?  Why  are  you  not  at 
the  head  of  your  troops?'  'Troops  be  d  —  d!'  replied 
the  captain ;  '  it  's  their  business  to  take  care  of  them 
selves  :  this  is  my  hole :  I  dug  it  last  night ;  and  the  cussed 


EXERCISED    IN    PRAYER.' 


215 


Britishers  can  hit  me  if  they  kin  —  let  'em  shute  !  Let 
the  troops  git  under  their  sand-bank  if  they  do  n't  want 
to  git  hit :  they  got  one  ! '  Was  n't  this  an  exhibition  of 
the  '  better  part  of  valor '  in  a  commanding  officer  ? 


SOME  months  ago  a  person  was  committed  to  jail  in 
Northampton,  Massachusetts,  and  placed  in  a  room  with  a 
maniac,  who  had  been  confined  there  temporially,  previous 
to  his  being  taken  to  the  Insane  Hospital  at  Brattleboro'. 
After  the  new-comer  had 'turned  in '  for  the  night,  his 
crazy  chum   ordered  him  up,  and   told  him  to  dress  him 
self,  and  then  make  a  prayer,  or  he  would  choke  him   to 
death  !     There  was  no  way  but  to  obey,  and  after  making 
what  he  supposed  to   be   a  sufficiently  long   prayer,  he 
stopped.     His  inquisitor  told  him  to  keep  on,  and  he  ac 
tually  kept  him  praying  all  night.      The  poor  man  was 
not  relieved  until  the  jailor  carried  in  his  breakfast.     From 
the  fact  of  his  having  been  '  committed  to  jail,'  probability 
favors  the  conclusion  that  he  had  not  prayed  for  some  time 
previously.     Perhaps,    however,   he   was   a  Massachusetts 
prisoner  for  debt.     Be  this  as  it  may,  it  seems  to  us  if  he 
were  not  blessed  with  a  great  natural  gift,  being  thus  ap 
pealed  to  'lead  in   prayer'  must  have  '  come   tough.'     It 
would  seem,  at  first  sight,  a  dreadful  situation  to  be  kept 
praying  all   night,  and  ex  tempore,  too:  but  we  well    re- 


216  -EXERCISED    IN    PRAYER.' 

member  a  good  old  wordy  clergyman,  of  our  '  boyhood's 
days,'  who  would  have  beaten  the  victim  in  an  involuntary 
offering  of  the  kind.  His  hearers  were  the  victims,  how 
ever,  in  his  case :  and  when  he  came  to  pray  for  the  bring 
ing  in  of  GOD'S  *  ancient  covenant  people,  the  Jews,'  which 
was  his  last  division,  his  audience  always  felt  as  rejoiced  as 
did  the  aforesaid  prisoner  when  the  jailor  came  to  deliver 
him  from  his  unwilling  service.  'Wo  unto  them  that 
make  long  prayers  ! ' —  and,  as  a  general  thing,  '  wo  is 
unto  them '  who  hear  them  ! 


NUMBER    TEN. 

FITFUL  FOREBODINGS  — OUR  FIRST  BABY:    ROCHESTER  JAIL  —  A      VISIBLE  SUP- 
PORT':    OUR    'QUAETEB'   TO   A   FOE :    A  YANKEE'S    'EYE  TO  TRADE5:    NEGRO 

ELOQUENCE:  'SWAYING'  YOUNG  TREES  —  HEAEIXG  'SOMETHING  DROP': 
'JOHN  SMITH'  rx  A  QUANDARY:  'DOBB'S'  is  SPRING-TIME:  A  'FLAT- 
FOOTED'  SIMILE:  MUKDKB  CONSIDERED  AS  ' MURDER T:  OF  TURTLES  AND 

THEIR    '  ABUSES  '  :    A   DYING  WIFE  TO  HER    HUSBAND  :     TT>TSq     SHREWDNESS  : 

AN  IRISH  BLUNDER:  THE  'MORALITY'  OF  DECENT  DRESS:  ARTISTIC  SMUG 
GLING, 

DID  you  ever  in  your  life  see  such  a  change  in  the 
feelings  of  any  man,  as  is  recorded  below,  in  a  couple 
of  extracts  from  a  letter  of  our  correspondent  '  JULIAN  ? ' 
He  is  not  well,  is   approaching  '  New- Years,'  and  is  alto 
gether  very  sad  indeed  : 

*  It  would  be  amusing,  if  one  could  laugh  at  any  thing 
so  sad,  to  observe  the  humors  of  the  few  who  think  upon 
the  bearings  of  this  solemn  time.  In  the  year  to  be,  there 
are  many  to  come,  many  to  go,  and  but  few  to  tarry  ;  yet 
all  have  their  ambitions  of  a  life-time;  those  even,  to 
whom  the  stars  have  grown  dim,  and  life  become  almost 
a  mockery  under  Heaven,  dashing  into  the  coming  day 
with  something  of  the  old  zest ;  while  the  many,  the  oi 
polloi,  who  have  not  yet  made  their  grand  move,  are  now 
10 


218  FITFUL    FOREBODINGS. 

ready,  and  think  that  therefore  the  earth  is  to  take  a  new 
route  in  creation :  forgetting  that  the  old  round  must  be 
the  round  for  ever.  Nights  sleepless  with  joy,  nights  sleep 
less  with  pain,  nights  long  with  watching,  feverish  thought ; 
crime  that  stings  like  an  adder,  and  nights  short  with  per 
fect  rest ;  days  long  and  weary,  days  bright  and  dashing, 
hot  and  cold,  wet  and  dry,  and  days  and  nights  with  all 
of  these  —  as  hath  been  in  the  time  that  's  past,  and  will 
be  in  the  time  to  come. 

4  There  is  something  very  pitiable  in  these  humors  ;  in 
deed  veiy  laughable,  if  your  mouth  is  shaped  to  that  ef 
fect  ;  but  as  it  happens  with  me  to-night,  my  mouth  re 
fuses  to  twitch  except  in  one  direction.  Its  corners  have 
the  '  downward  tendencies.'  Perhaps  it  is  because  this  is 
with  me  the  anniversary  of  a  day  upon  the  events  of 
which  are  hanging  the  movements  of  all  after-life  ;  it  may 
be  this,  and  there  may  be  thereto  added  the  coloring  of  a 
winter's  day.  The  wind  howls  about  the  house-tops,  and 
the  air  pierces  like  needles ;  even  the  stars,  when  they  look 
down  in  thousands,  as  the  rack  goes  by,  seem  to  shiver  in 
their  high  places  ;  yet  perhaps  there  is  nothing  so  personal 
in  all  that,  considering  that  just  so  the  wind  howled  last 
night,  and  may  for  a  month  to  come  ;  but  oh  !  as  I  am  a 
nervous  man,  and  look  back  upon  the  circling  months,  and 
feel  the  sting  here  and  the  stab  there,  in  that  galvanic  bat 
tery  ;  and  as  I  look  forward  with  eager  eye,  and  ear  open 


OUR    FIRST    BABY.  219 

to  the  faintest  whisper  of  the  dim  tomorrow,  it  is  not  as 
the  stars  shiver  from  excess  of  light,  but  with  a  shudder 

at  the  heart  from  the  cooler  blood  of  Good  night, 

my  kind  EDITOR  :  that  sentence  is  quite  too  long  already, 
and  there  are  some  things  too  persona!  to  tell. 

'P.  S.  —  Whoop  !  hurrah  !  Light  is  upon  the  world 
again  !  Where  are  you,  my  dear  friend  2  I  say,  Sir,  I  was 
an  ass  —  do  you  hear?  —  an  ass,  premature,  wise  before 
my  time,  a  brute,  a  blockhead  !  Did  I  talk  of  dust  and 
ashes  ?  Oh  !  Sir,  I  lied  multitudinously.  Every  nerve, 
every  muscle  that  did  n't  try  to  strangle  me  in  that  utter 
ance,  lied.  No,  Sir ;  let  me  tell  you  it 's  a  great  world ; 
glorious  —  magnificent ;  a  world  that  can't  be  beat !  Talk 
of  the  stars  and  a  better  world,  but  do  n't  invite  me  there 
yet.  Make  my  regrets,  my  apology  to  DEATH,  but  say 
that  I  can't  come ;  *  positive  engagement ;  happy  some 
other  time,  but  not  now.'  Oh,  no ;  this  morning  is  quite 
too  beautiful  to  leave  ;  and  beside,  I  would  rather  stay,  if 
only  to  thank  GOD  a  little  longer  for  this  glorious  light, 
this  pure  air  that  can  echo  back  my  loudest  hurrah.  And 

then,  my  boy But  have  n't  I  told  you  ?     Why,  Sir, 

I  Ve  got  a  boy  !  —  a  boy  !  —  ha,  ha  !  I  shout  it  out  to 
you  —  A  BOY;  a  ten-pounder,  and  the  mother  a  great 
deal  better  than  could  be  expected  !  And,  I  say,  my  old 
friend,  it 's  mine  f  Hurrah  and  hallelujah  forever  !  Oh, 


220  OUR     FIRST    BABY. 

Sir!  such  legs,  and  such  arms,  and  such  a  head!  —  and 
he  has  his  mother's  lips  !  I  can  kiss  them  forever  !  And 
then,  Sir,  look  at  his  feet,  his  hands,  his  chin,  his  eyes,  his 
every  thing,  in  fact — so  perfect!  Give  me  joy,  Sir:  no 
you  need  n't  either.  I  am  full  now  ;  I  run  over ;  and 
they  say  that  I  ran  over  a  number  of  old  women,  half 
killed  the  mother,  pulled  the  doctor  by  the  nose,  and  up 
set  a  'pothecary  shop  in  the  corner ;  and  then  did  n't  I 
rino-  the  tea-bell  ?  Did  n't  I  blow  the  horn  ?  Did  n't  I 

£> 

dance,  shout,  laugh,  and  cry  altogether  ?  The  women  say 
they  had  to  tie  me  up.  I  do  n't  believe  that ;  but  who  is 
going  to  shut  his  mouth  when  he  has  a  live  baby  ?  You 
should  have  heard  his  lungs,  Sir,  at  the  first  mouthful  of 
fresh  ah'  —  such  a  burst !  A  little  tone  in  his  voice,  but 
not  pain ;  excess  of  joy,  Sir,  from  too  great  sensation.  The 
air-bath  was  so  sudden,  you  know.  Think  of  all  his  beau 
tiful  machinery  starting  off  at  once  in  full  motion ;  all  his 
thousand  outside  feelers  answering  to  the  touch  of  the  cool 
air ;  the  flutter  and  crash  at  the  ear ;  and  that  curious 
contrivance  the  eye,  looking  out  wonderingly  and  bewil 
dered  upon  the  great  world,  so  glorious  and  dazzling  to 
his  unworn  perceptions  ;  his  net-work  of  nerves,  his  wheels 
and  pulleys,  his  air-pumps  and  valves,  his  engines  and  res 
ervoirs  ;  and  within  all,  that  beautiful  fountain,  with  its 
jets  and  running  streams  dashing  and  coursing  through 
•the  whole  length  and  breadth,  without  either  stint  or 


OUR    FIRST    BABY.  221 

pause  —  making  altogether,  Sir,  exactly  ten  pounds  avoir 
dupois  ! 

'  Did  I  ever  talk  brown  to  you,  Sir,  or  blue,  or  any 
other  of  the  devil's  colors  ?  You  say  I  have.  Beg  your 
pardon,  Sir,  but  you  —  are  mistaken  in  the  individual.  I 
am  this  day,  Sir,  multiplied  by  two.  I  am  duplicate.  I 
am  number  one  of  an  indefinite  series,  and  there  's  my 
continuation.  And  you  observe,  it  is  not  a  block,  nor  a 
block-head,  nor  a  painting,  nor  a  bust,  nor  a  fragment  of 
any  thing,  however  beautiful ;  but  a  combination  of  all 
the  arts  and  sciences  in  one ;  painting,  sculpture,  music, 
(hear  him  cry,)  mineralogy,  chemistry,  mechanics,  (see  him 
kick,)  geography,  and  the  use  of  the  globes,  (see  him 
nurse ;)  and  withal,  he  is  a  perpetual  motion  —  a  time 
piece  that  will  never  run  down  !  And  who  wound  it  up  ? 
But  words,  Sir,  are  but  a  mouthing  and  a  mockery. 

'  When  a  man  is  nearly  crushed  under  obligations,  it  is 
presumed  that  he  is  unable  to  speak ;  but  he  may  bend 
over  very  carefully,  for  fear  of  falling,  nod  in  a  small  way, 
and  say  nothing  ;  and  then,  if  he  have  sufficient  presence 
of  mind  to  lay  a  hand  upon  his  heart,  and  look  down  at  an 
angle  of  forty-five  degrees,  with  a  motion  of  the  lips  —  un- 
uttered  poetry  —  showing  the  wish  and  the  inability,  it  will 
be  (well  done)  very  gracefully  expressive.  With  my  boy 
in  his  first  integuments,  I  assume  that  position,  make  the 
small  nod  aforesaid,  and  leave  yon  the  poetry  unuttered.' 


222  ROCHESTER    JAIL. 


IT  will  take  you  but  a  minute  to  read  this  little  sketch 
of  what  we  heard  and  saw  at  the  jail  in  Rochester,  that 
wonderful  new-old  city,  recently : 

As  we  walked  leisurely  by  a  grated  door,  a  flushed 
countenance  and  unquiet  eye  flashed  suddenly  upon  us 
through  the  iron  bars.  It  was  a  face  to  be  remembered, 
for  it  had  '  a  smack  of  Tartarus  and  the  souls  in  bale.'  It 
was  of  a  man  in  confinement  for  shooting  his  wife,  in  cold 
blood.  She  was  still  lingering  upon  the  borders  of  the 
grave,  and,  woman-like,  refused  to  criminate,  by  her  testi 
mony,  her  brutal  husband.  ...  As  we  were  emerging  from 
the  prison,  a  representative  from  those  conclaves  of  mis 
creancy  in  which  crime  is  concocted,  accumulations  of  hu 
manity  which  ferment  and  reek  like  compost,  in  all  large 
cities,  was  pointed  out  leisurely  engaged  in  carrying  out 
the  plan  of  Mr.  M'AoAM,  with  a  long-handled  hammer. 
He  was  a  bit  of  a  wag,  we  were  informed,  whose  wit  had 
often  stood  him  in  good  stead.  He  had  been  repeatedly 
before  the  city  authorities  for  divers  misdemeanors,  and 
each  time  promised  well  for  the  future;  but  although 
be  always  kept  his  countenance,  he  never  kept  his  word. 
On  one  occasion,  he  was  just  about  to  be  sentenced,  with 
other  sanculottists,  as  a  common  vagrant*  when,  with  the 
most  imperturbable  sang  froid,  having  suddenly  har 
pooned  $•  ^ood  idea,  he  pulled  from  a  capacious  pocket  of 


OUR    '  Q  u  A  R  T  ER  '    TO    A    F  o  E  .  223 

his  tattered  coat  a  loaf  of  bread,  and  half  of  a  dried  codfish, 
and  holding  them  up  to  the  magistrate,  with  triumphant 
look  and  gesture,  exclaimed  :  '  You  do  n't  ketch  me  that 
way  !  I  'm  no  wagrant.  An't  them  '  wisible  means  o' 
support,'  I  should  like  to  know  ? '  The  argument  was  a 
non  sequitur. 

THE  opinion  has  always  extensively  prevailed  in  the 
United  States,  and  doubtless  even  now  generally  obtains, 
fostered  as  it  is  by  many  of  our  own  writers,  that  the  only 
feeling  which  an  elderly  Englishman,  who  happened  to  be 
'out'  in  America,  during  our  national  contest^  entertains 
toward  this  country  and  her  people,  is  one  of  decided 
hatred  and  repugnance.  We  can  call  to  mind,  at  this 
moment,  some  half  dozen  native  fictions,  and  one  or  two 
indigenous  works  of  a  different  character,  in  which  this 
position  is  set  forth  as  a  prominent  fact.  Now,  as  a  gen 
eral  truth,  we  believe  the  reverse  to  be  the  case ;  and  we 
are  sustained  in  this  opinion  by  those  who  have  had  dis 
tinguished  opportunities  of  judging  of  its  correctness.  An 
instance  was  recently  related  to  us,  by  an  illustrious 
American,  known  as  well,  and  as  highly  honored,  abroad 
as  at  home,  which,  without  any  infraction  of  social  confi 
dence,  we  shall  here  take  the  liberty  to  repeat,  for  the 
benefit  of  our  readers. 

;  Old  Admiral  Sir  -    -  HARVEY  told  me,  at  dinner,  of 


224        A    YANKEE'S    'EYE    TO    TRADE.' 

his  serving  on  the  American  station,  when  he  was  a  mid 
shipman  in  1776.  He  was  cast  away  in  the  'Liverpool, 
in  the  month  of  February,  on  Rockaway  beach.  The 
boats  were  swamped  in  getting  the  crew  to  shore.  The 
people  of  the  neighborhood  came  down  to  the  beach  in 
wagons,  took  them  up  to  their  homes,  changed  and  dried 
their  clothes,  and  gave  them  supper.  They  remained 
quartered  in  this  neighborhood  for  weeks,  part  of  the  time 
in  tents,  part  of  the  time  in  the  farm-houses.  Nothing  could 
exceed  the  kindness  of  the  people,  particularly  of  the  Qua 
ker  family  of  the  HICKS'S  ;  and  another  family,  who  treat 
ed  them  always  hospitably  in  their  houses.  They  made 
great  havoc  among  the  bacon  and  beans,  and  passed  their 
time  pleasantly  among  the  Quaker  girls;  who  always, 
however,  demeaned  themselves  with  strict  propriety ;  the 
old  Quakers  tolerating  their  youthful  frolics.  When  they 
came  to  pay  off  scores,  they  expected  to  have  '  a  thunder 
ing  bill.'  The  good  people  would  take  nothing  but  the 
king's  allowance.  '  You  are  people  in  distress,'  said  they  ; 
'  we  will  not  take  any  thing  out  of  your  pockets.'  The 
old  Admiral  declares  he  has  never  forgotten  their  kindness. 


A  GENIAL  friend,  in  one  of  our  south-county  towns, 
which  *  well  we  know,'  as  Mrs.  GAMP  says,  tells  the  follow 
ing  :  A  map-pedler,  in  pursuance  of  his  vocation,  chanced 


NEGRO    ELOQUENCE.  225 

to  stop  at  the  principal  hotel  in  one  of  the  pleasantest  of 
our  western  state  villages.  A  friend,  whom  he  had  known 
in  former  years  in  Yankee-land,  seeing  him  at  die  hotel, 
invited  him  to  a  large  party  which  he  was  to  give  the 
same  evening.  The  old  friend  came  ;  and  when  received 
by  his  host  at  the  door,  was  found  with  three  maps  in  his 
hand  :  '  How-de-du  ? '  said  he ;  '  got  any  nails  ?  Thought 
as  praps  there  was  to  be  a  good  many  fokes  here  to  night, 
I  'd  hang  up  some  o'  my  maps  here,  and  let  'em  look  at 
'em.  Good  chance  —  fust  rate.  May  be  some  on  'em 
would  like  to  buy  'em ;  and  I  could  explain  'em  as  well  as 
not ;  nothin'  else  to  do,  pooty  much.  Got  a  small  ham 
mer  ?  Know  where  I  7d  be  liable  to  dispose  of  a  few- 
beans  ? '  Sharp  practice,  that,  eh  ? 


THERE  is  a  vast  deal  of  a  certain  kind  of  originality 
about  negro  composition.  Take  this  example  of  an  illus 
tration  lately  used  bv  a  colored  exhorter  at  an  evenino- 

•*  *  O 

conference-meeting  in  Montgomery,  Alabama  : 

'  MY  bredren,  GOD  bless  your  souls,  'ligion  is  like  de  Alabama  ribcr.  In 
spring  come  de  fresh,  an'  he  bring  in  all  de  ole  logs,  slabs  an'  sticks,  dat  hab 
been  lyin'  on  de  bank,  and  carrying  dem  down  in  de  current  Bimeby  de  water 
go  down ;  den  a  log  cotch  here  on  dis  island,  den  a  slab  get  cotched  on  de  shore, 
and  de  sticks  on  de  bushes ;  and  dare  dey  lie.  wid'rin'  and  dryin'  till  comes 
'nodder  fresh.  Jist  so  dere  come  'vival  of  'ligion ;  dis  ole  sinner  bro't  in,  dat 
cle  back-slider  bro't  back ;  an"  all  de  folk  seem  comin' —  an"  mighty  cood  times. 
Bur,  bredren,  GOD  bless  your  souls!  bimeby  'vival 's  cone-  den  dis  ole  sinner 

10* 


226  -SWAYING'     YOUNG    TREES. 

is  stuck  on  his  ole  sin ;  den  dat  ole  back-slider  is  cotched  where  he  was  afore, 
on  jus1  such  a  rock ;  den  one  arter  'nodder,  dat  had  got  'ligion,  lies  all  'long  de 
shore,  and  dere  dey  lie  till  'nodder  'vival.  Beloved  bredren,  GOD  bless  your 
souls,  get  deep  in  de  current ! ' 

How  many  a  white  pulpit-bore  has  waded  through 
the  logical  '  divisions '  of  a  discourse,  (a  well-intended  one, 
no  doubt,  but  from  its  unconscionable  length  spoiling 
some  hearer's  Sunday  turkey  that  was  worth  two  of  it,) 
which  had  not  in  its  whole  compass  so  forcible  an  illustra 
tion  as  this  ? 


'  Remembrances  of  Boyhood '  shall  appear :  we  do 
1  think  the  article  worthy.'  Speaking  of  boyhood,  we 
may  as  well  add,  that  we  have  recently  had  quite  a  prac 
tical  illustration  of  the  pleasure  to  be  derived  from  certain 
of  its  reminiscences.  During  a  recent  visit  to  an  esteemed 
friend  in  the  country,  whose  hospitable  mansion  rises 
amidst  its  painted  autumnal  trees,  within  sound  of  the 
cataract  of  Cohoes,  we  joined  a  pleasant  party  to  visit, 
over  the  Hudson,  the  lofty  summit  of  '  Mount  Rafinesque] 
(named  after  an  old  contributor  to  this  Magazine,)  from 
which  a  magnificent  and  most  varied  view  may  be  com 
manded.  As  we  alighted  from  our  barouche,  at  the  foot  of 
the  last  great  acclivity,  *and  began  to  ascend  through  the 
forest  that  skirts  its  base,  so  it  was  that  the  fresh  moun 
tain  air  did  greatly  dilate  the  heart  and  expand  the  spirits 
of  <OLD  KXICK.,'  who  left  the  'honorable  member,'  his 


HEARING    'SOMETHING    DROP.'         227 

guests  and  the  charming  ladies  of  his  household  behind 
him,  .while  ZACiiEus-like,  he  ran  on  in  advance,  and 
climbed  some  forty  or  fifty  feet  to  the  top  of  a  small 
'  staddle,'  having  it  in  mind  to  perform  a  common  feat  of 
his  boyhood  ;  namely,  to  '  sway'  the  same  by  grasping  its 
top  and  dropping  slowly  to  the  ground  with  the  yielding 
trunk.  Xow  look  you  what  befel :  '  Do  me  the  favor  to 
observe  !'  exclaimed  '  OLD  KNICK.,'  as  he  threw  himself 
free  from  the  body  of  the  sapling.  Down  he  went,  with 
a  sensation  as  of  sinking  slowly  in  a  balloon,  when  pre 
sently,  while  yet  about  fifteen  feet  from  the  ground,  he 
suddenly  ' heard  something  drop!"1  The  individual  who 
emerged  from  under  the  bruised  branches  of  that  prostrate 
ash,  (so  unlike  the  lithe  saplings  familiar  to  his  boyhood,) 
was  rubbing  several  of  his  own  limbs,  for  some  cause  or 
other  ;  and  we  can  answer  for  him,  that  when  he  saw  the 
'honorable  member'  smothering  a  titter,  and  his  fair 
household  suppressing  a  large  amount  of  giggle;  when 
he  heard  them  say  that  they  were  *  sorry  that  the  tree 
had  broken  so  soon  ;  very  sorry  ;  did  n't  know  the  time, 
in  fact,  for  several  years,  when  they  had  been  quite  so 
sorry ;'  when  '  OLD  KNICK.'  saw  and  heard  this,  he  was 
discomforted  within  himself,  and  his  countenance  fell;  for 
then  he  knew  that  they  were  laughing  at  him.  There 
was  a  lame  male  'human'  about  the  house  that  night, 
doing  something  with  laudanum  and  opodeldoc ;  yet  he 


A    QUANDARY. 

did  not  forget,  amidst  his  thoughts  of  '  the  toil  to  that 
mountain  led,'  the  matchless  view  of  city,  village,  moun 
tain,  'field  and  flood,'  which  was  commanded  from  its 
lofty  summit,  on  that  glorious  October  afternoon. 


JOHN  SMITH  —  we  mention  this  gentleman's  cognomeu 
with  some  reluctance,  for  the  reason  that  there  are  two 
persons  of  the  same  name  in  Gotham  —  JOHN  SMITH  was 
returning  to  town  on  one  occasion  about  midnight,  in  a 
dark  snow-storm.  He  was  '  full  of  new  wine,'  and  was 
quite  unable,  after  riding  for  an  hour,  to  find  his  own 
dwelling ;  but  he  drove  up  to  a  house  which  he  thought 
must  be  at  least  in  his  neighborhood,  and  almost  wrenched 
the  bell-pull  off  with  his  hurried  and  repeated  ringings. 
At  length  a  neighbor's  head  peered  from  an  upper  win 
dow :  'What  do  you  want,  down  there?'  said  not  the 

best-natured  voice  in  the  world;   'what  the  d 1  do 

you  want  ?  —  ringing  the  bell  as  if  the  house  was  a-fire  ; 
What  do  you  want  ? '  '  Can  you  tell  me  where  JOHN 
SMITH  lives  ?'  '  J-O-H-N  S-M-I-T-H!?'  answered  the  recog 
nized  neighbor,  with  a  kind  of  exclamatory  interrogation  ; 
'why,  you  are  JOHN  SMITH,. yourself !'  'I  know  that,  as 
well  you  do,'  hiccupped  JOHN,  '  but  I  do  n't  know  where 
I  live  I  —  wan'  to  know  w-h-e-r-e  I  l-i-v-e!'  Somebody 
show'd  him. 


A      'FLAT-FOOTED'      Si  MILE.  229 


WE  slipped  up  to  '  DOBB  bis  Ferry'  the  other  day. 
It  looked  bleak  there  —  all  but  the  noble  river  and  the 
grand  old  hills.  There  were  no  friends  on  the  piazza 
fronting  the  sanctum,  and  no  little  people  runnino-  down 
the  hill  to  meet  '  OLD  KXICK.'  half  way,  and  pour  into  the 
porches  of  his  ears  much  voluble  discourse,  on  his  farther 
way  up.  Down  on  the  shore,  however,  was  one  of 
*  Young  KNICK.'S  '  little  shoes,  and  idly  walking  there,  we 
picked  up  the  tube  of  an  old  rocket.  There  was  pleasure 
in  thinking  when  that  little  old  shoe  was  lost,  and  that 
signal-rocket  fired.  Winter  has  gone;  the  time  of  the 
singing  of  birds  hath  come  ;  the  trees  are  reddening*  with 
their  newly-awakened  life-blood  ;  and  soon  '  DOBB'S  '  will 
put  forth  all  its  summer  glories. 


'  I  SHOULD  like  you  to  have  seen,'  said  a  friend  to  us 
the  other  day,  '  a  specimen  of  a  green  Yankee  who  came 
down  the  Sound  in  a  Hartford  steamer  with  me.  He  had 
never  been  '  to  'York  '  before,  and  he  was  asking  questions 
of  every  body  on  board  the  boat.  However,  if  he  was 
1  green  as  grass '  he  was  picking  up  a  good  deal  of  in 
formation,  which  will  doubtless  stand  him  in  good  stead 
hereafter.  One  of  his  comparisons  struck  me  as  decidedh 
original  :  '  Up  to  Northampton,'  said  he,  '  I  took  break- 


230    MURDER    CONSIDERED    AS    'MURDER.' 

fast,  and  they  taxed  me  tew  shillings !  'Twas  a  pooty 
good  price,  but  I  'gin  it  to  'em.  'Twas  enough,  any  way. 
Well,  when  I  come  down  to  Har'ford,  I  took  breakfast 
ag'in,  next  mornin',  and  when  I  asked  'em  '  How  much  ? ' 
they  looked  at  me  and  said,  '  Half  a  dollar  ! ! '  I  looked 
back  at  'em  pooty  sharp  —  but  I  paid  it ;  and  arter  I'd 
paid  it,  I  sot  down,  and  ciphered  up  inside  how  much  it 
would  cost  a  fellow  to  board  long  at  that  rate  ;  and  I  tell 
you  what,  I  pooty  soon  found  eout  that  'fore  the  end  of  a 
month  it  would  make  a  fellow's  pocket-book  look  as  if  an 
elephant  had  stomped  onto  it ! '  '  SAM  SLICK  '  himself 
never  employed  a  more  striking  simile. 


THE  following  specimen  of  judicial  '  wisdom '  was  re 
cently  delivered  to  a  'Wolverine'  jury:  —  'Murder,  gen 
tlemen,'  said  our  western  SOLON,  '  is  where  a  man  is 
murderously  killed.  The  killer,  in  such  a  case,  is  a  mur 
derer.  Now  murder  by  poison  is  as  much  murder  as 
murder  with  a  gun.  It  is  the  murdering  that  constitutes 
murder,  in  the  eye  of  the  law.  You  will  bear  in  mind 
that  murder  is  one  thing,  and  manslaughter  another: 
therefore,  if  it  is  not  manslaughter,  it  must  be  murder ; 
and  if  it  be  not  murder,  it  must  be  manslaughter.  Self- 
murder  has  nothing  to  do  in  this  case  :  one  man  cannot 
commit  felo  de  se  on  another :  that  is  clearly  my  view. 


TURTLES    AND    THEIR    'ABUSES.'       231 

Gentlemen,  I  think  you  can  have  no  difficulty.  Murder, 
I  say,  is  murder.  The  murder  of  a  brother  is  called  fra 
tricide  ;  but  it  is  not  fratricide  if  a  man  murders  his 
mother.  You  will  make  up  your  minds.  You  know 
what  murder  is,  and  I  need  not  tell  you  what  it  is  not. 
I  repeat,  murder  is  murder.  You  can  retire  upon  it,  if 
you  like ! ' 


WE  do  not  remember  ever  to  have  seen  a  more  ap 
pealing  look  than  one  which  was  given  us  the  other  day 
by  a  Green  Turtle  at  the  door  of  a  popular  restaurant  in 
Broadway.  How  he  had  effected  so  much,  passes  our 
comprehension  ;  but  he  had  actually  backed  up  against 
the  wall  to  an  angle  of  about  forty-five  degrees ;  and  his 
head  was  out,  and  bent  round,  apparently  to  see  how  the 
land  lay.  He  regarded  us  with  evident  emotion  ;  and  the 
look  of  his  eye,  the  gurgling  in  his  throat,  and  a  heavy 
sigh,  which  must  have  come  from  the  very  bottom  of  his 
shell,  said  as  plainly  as  ever  a  Green  Turtle  spoke  in  the 
world  :  *  Friend,  reverse  me,  for  Pity's  sake  !  Give  me  a 
chance  for  my  life !  I  will  do  you  as  good  a  turn,  if  I 
ever  find  you  on  your  back,  with  a  label  on  your  breast, 
setting  forth  that  you  are  going  to  '  get  into  a  stew '  the 
next  day  !'  For  one  moment  we  thought  of  *  liberty,'  and 
heartily  '  wished  he  might  get  it ;'  and  he  would  have 
obtained  it,  too,  if  he  had  the  same  chance  that  a  fellow- 


232       TURTLES    AND    THEIR    'ABUSES.' 

Testudo  had,  with  his  English  captors,  as  described  by 
HOOK.  It  seems  they  were  conveying  a  turtle  in  a  boat 
on  the  river  Tay,  when  somebody  suggested  the  conve 
nience  of  a  sea-bath,  and  the  refreshment  the  creature 
might  derive  from  a  taste  of  its  native  element.  Accord 
ingly  Testudo  was  lifted  over  the  side,  and  indulged  with 
a  dip  and  a  wallop  in  the  wave,  which  actually  revived  it 
so  powerfully,  that  from  a  playful  flapping  with  its  fore- 
fins  it  soon  began  to  struggle  most  vigorously,  like  a  giant 
refreshed  with  brine.  In  fact,  it  paddled  with  a  power 
which,  added  to  its  weight,  left  no  alternative  to  its 
guardian  but  to  go  with  it  or  without  it.  The  event  soon 
came  off.  The  man  tumbled  backward  into  the  boat,  and 
the  turtle  plunged  forward  into  the  deep.  There  was  a 
splash  ;  a  momentary  glimpse  of  the  broad  back-shell ; 
the  waters  closed,  and  all  was  over  —  or  rather  under. 

'  Is  he  alive  ?"*  inquired  a  little  boy  in  our  hearing  the 
other  day,  as  he  gazed  at  a  large  turtle  crawling  in  front  of 
another  restaurant,  with  a  bill  of  his  own  fare  on  his  back. 
'  Alive ! '  exclaimed  a  fat  man  who  was  also  looking  at 
the  shell-monster  with  an  expression  of  intense  interest ; 
4  sartingly,  boy  !  He  acts  like  a  live  turkle,  do  n't  he  ? ' 
'  Why  yes,  he  acts  like  one,'  answered  the  little  querist ; 
'  but  I  did  n't  know  but  he  might  be  matin1  Ulieve  /'  Is 
it  possible  that  what  a  friend,  just  returned  from  New 
Zealand,  tell  us  can  be  true  ?  He  says  that  he  has  many 


A    DY!NG    WIFE    TO    HER    HUSBAND.     233 

a  time  and  oft  seen  a  fat  and  tender  white  man  lying  be 
fore  a  cannibal  eating-house,  with  '  Soup1  in  large  native 
characters,  and  the  hour  at  which  he  was  to  be  served  up, 
inscribed  on  his  breast.  A  man,  says  our  friend,  should 
see  a  sight  like  this,  who  would  properly  appreciate  the 
frequent  deep-drawn  sigh  which  a  poor  turtle  heaves  while 
lying  on  his  back,  exposed  to  the  rude  gaze  of  hungry 
passers-by.  Christian-men  too,  in  good  corporeal  condi 
tion,  has  our  traveller  seen  in  Cannibal-land,  driven  around 
the  lanes  of  the  rude  villages,  their  limbs  decorated  with 
parti-colored  ribands,  and  the  hour  when  they  were  to  be 
killed  marked  on  their  backs !  <  Mine  GOTT  !  vat  a 
peoples ! ' 

THE  following  most  touching  fragment  of  a  Letter 
from  a  Dying  Wife  to  her  Husband  was  found  by  him, 
some  months  after  her  death,  between  the  leaves  of  a  re 
ligious  volume,  which  she  was  very  fond  of  perusing.  The 
letter,  which  was  literally  dim  with  tear-marks,  was  writ 
ten  long  before  the  husband  was  aware  that  the  grasp  of 
a  fatal  disease  had  fastened  upon  the  lovely  form  of  his 
wife,  who  died  at  the  early  age  of  nineteen  : 

'  WHEN-  this  shall  reach  your  eye,  Dear  G ,  some  day  when  you  are  turn- 
Ing  over  the  relics  of  the  past,  I  shall  have  passed  away  for  even  and  the  cold 
white  stone  will  be  keeping  its  lonely  watch  over  the  lips  you  have  so  often 
pressed,  and  the  sod  will  be  crowing  creen  that  shall  hide  for  ever  from  vour 


234     A    DYING    WIFE    TO    HER     HUSBAND. 

sight  the  dust  of  one  who  has  so  often  nestled  close  to  your  warm  heart.  For 
many  long  and  sleepless  nights,  when  all  beside  my  thoughts  was  at  rest,  I 
have  wrestled  with  the  consciousness  of  approaching  death,  until  at  last  it  has 
forced  itself  upon  my  mind;  and  although  to  you  and  to  others  it  might  now 

seem  but  the  nervous  imaginings  of  a  girl,  yet,  dear  G ,  it  is  so  I    Many 

weary  hours  have  I  passed  in  the  endeavor  to  reconcile  myself  to  leaving  you, 
whom  I  love  so  well,  and  this  bright  world  of  sunshine  and  beauty ;  and  hard 
indeed  it  is  to  struggle  on  silently  and  alone  with  the  sure  conviction  that  I 
am  aboufcto  leave  all  for  ever,  and  go  down  alone  into  the  dark  valley !  '  But  I 
know  in  whom  I  have  believed,'  and  leaning  upon  His  arm  '  I  fear  no  evil.'  Do 
not  blame  me  for  keeping  even  all  this  from  you.  How  could  I  subject  you,  of 
all  others,  to  such  sorrow  as  I  feel  at  parting,  when  time  will  so  soon  make  it 
apparent  to  you?  I  could  have  wished  to  live,  if  only  to  be  at  your  side  when 
your  time  shall  come,  and  pillowing  your  head  upon  my  breast,  wipe  the 
death-damps  from  your  brow,  and  usher  your  departing  spirit  into  its  MAKER'S 
presence,  embalmed  in  woman's  holiest  prayer.  But  it  is  not  so  to  be  —  and  I 
submit  Yours  is  the  the  privilege  of  watching,  through  long  and  dreary 
nights,  for  the  spirit's  final  flight,  and  of  transferring  my  sinking  head  from 
your  breast  to  my  SAVIOUR'S  bosom !  And  you  shall  share  my  last  thought ; 
the  last  faint  pressure  of  the  hand,  and  the  last  feeble  kiss  shall  be  yours ;  and 
oven  when  flesh  and  heart  shall  have  failed  me,  my  eye  shall  rest  on  yours 
until  glazed  by  death ;  and  our  spirits  shall  hold  one  last  fond  communion, 
until  gently  fading  from  my  view  —  the  last  of  earth  —  you  shall  mingle  with 
the  first  bright  glimpses  of  the  unfading  glories  of  that  better  world,  where 

partings  are  unknown.    Well  do  I  know  the  spot,  dear  G ,  where  you  will 

lay  me :  often  have  we  stood  by  the  place,  and  as  we  watched  the  mellow  sun 
set  as  it  glanced  in  quivering  flashes  through  the  leaves,  and  burnished  the 
grassy  mounds  around  us  with  stripes  of  burnished  gold,  each  perhaps  has 
thought  that  some  day  one  of  us  would  come  alone,  and  whichever  it  might 
be,  your  name  would  be  on  the  stone.  But  we  loved  the  spot ;  and  I  know 
you  '11  love  it  none  the  less  when  you  see  the  same  quiet  sun-light  linger  and 
play  among  the  grass  that  grows  over  your  MARY'S  grave.  I  know  you'll 
go  often  alone  there,  when  I  am  laid  there,  and  my  spirit  will  be  with  you 
then,  and  whisper  among  the  waving  branches,  '  /  am  not  lost,  but  gone 
before  I ' 


IRISH    SHREWDNESS.  235 


CURIOUS  and  odd  things  not  unfrequentlj  occur  '  be 
fore  the  Mayor.'  The  other  day,  in  attending  to  ap 
plications  for  situations  in  the  police-force,  the  Mayor,  it 
was  supposed,  was  about  to  invest  PATRICK  MCRPHY  with 
a4 star,' when  some  of  his  Irish  competitors  outside  the 
railing  cried  out :  '  Are  ye  goin'  to  'pint  PAT,  yer  Honor  ? 
He  can't  write  his  name,  yer  Honor.'  '  I  am  only  receiv 
ing  applications  to-day ;  in  a  fortnight  we  make  appoint 
ments,'  said  the  Mayor  :  and  PAT  was  told  to  call  on  that 
day  two  weeks.  The  friend  through  whose  influence  PAT 
had  been  induced  to  apply  for  office  said  to  him,  as  they 
came  away  from  the  Hall,  'Now,  PAT,  go  home,  and 
every  night  do  you  get  a  big  piece  of  paper  and  a  good 
stout  pen,  and  keep  writing  your  name.  I  ?11  ;  set  the 
copy'  for  you.'  PAT  did  as  directed  ;  and  every  night  for 
a  fortnight  was  seen  running  out  his  tongue  and  swaying 
his  head  over  '  PATRICK  MURPHY,'  '  PATRICK  MURPHY,' 
in  the  style  of  chirography  generally  known  as  '  coarse 
hand.'  When  the  day  for  the  appointment  came,  PAT 
found  himself  *  before  the  Mayor,'  urging  his  claim.  'Can 
you  write  ? '  said  that  excellent  functionary.  '  Troth,  an' 
it's  meself  that  jist  kin/1  answered  PAT.  'Take  that 
pen,'  said  the  Mayor,  '  and  let  us  see  you  write.  Write 
your  name.' 

He  took  the  pen  as  directed,  when  a  sort  of  exclama- 


236  AN    IRISH    BLUNDER. 

tory  laugh  burst  from  his  surprised  competitors  ;vho  were 
in  attendance :  'How-ly  PAUL  !  — d'  ye  mind  that,  MIKE  ? 
PAT'S  a-writin' ! — he  's  got  a  quill  in  his  fist !'  '  So  he 
has,  be  Jabers ! '  said  MIKE  ;  '  but  small  good  't  will  do 
him  ;  he  can't  write  wid  it,  man  ? '  But  PAT  did  write  ; 
he  had  recorded  his  name  in  a  bold  round  hand.  'That'll 
do,'  said  the  Mayor.  His  foiled  rivals  looked  in  each 
other's  faces  with  undisguised  astonishment.  A  lucky 
thought  struck  them  :  '  Ask  him  to  write  somebody  else's 
name,  yer  Honor,'  said  two  of  them,  in  a  breath.  '  That 's 
well  thought  of,'  replied  the  Mayor :  '  PAT,  write  my 
name ! '  Here  was  a  dilemma  ;  but  PAT  was  equal  to  it. 
'  Me  write  yer  Honor's  name  ! '  exclaimed  he,  with  a  well- 
dissembled  ' holy  horror  ; '  'ME  commit  a  forgery,  and  I  a- 
goin'  on  the  Pelisse  !  I  can't  do  it,  yer  Honor !'  And  he 
could  n't  —  but  his  wit  saved  him,  and  he  is  now  '  a  'star' 
of  the  first  magnitude.' 

By-the-by,  '  speaking  of  Irishmen,'  CRANSTON,  the  pop 
ular  host  of  the  '  Rockaway  Pavilion,'  illustrates  by  a 
characteristic  anecdote  their  inherent  propensity  to  blun 
der.  An  Irish  servant  of  his  had  been  directed  to  awaken 
two  gentlemen  at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning,  who  were  to 
take  the  public  conveyance  to  town.  At  three  o'clock  in 
the  morning  he  awakened  two  other  gentlemen  from  a 
sound  sleep,  who  after  anathematizing  his  stupidity,  '  be 
tween  sleep  and  awake,'  for  some  homm  and  a  half,  at  length 


'MORALITY'    OF    DECENT    DRESS.       237 

fell  into  the  refreshing  slumber  which  had  been  so  rudely 
dispelled;  when  there  came  another  rap  at  their  dooi-s, 
which  awoke  them  instanter.  The  blundering  Irishman, 
having  discovered  his  mistake,  had  *  come  to  apologize  to 
the  gintlemen  for  wakin'  'em  up  at  the  wrong  hour!' 
Faix,'  said  he,  in  the  most  self-accusing  spirit,  '  it  was  n't 
yez  that  was  to  be  waked,  anny  way  ! '  With  curses 
not  loud,  but  of  considerable  depth,  the  restless  guests 
resigned  themselves  to  their  fate  —  victims  of  an  Irish 
servant. 


AN  eminent  legal  judge,  and  a  preeminent  judge  of 
human  nature,  observes  :  '  It  is  an  observation  I  have  al 
ways  made,  that  dress  has  a  moral  effect  on  mankind.  Let 
any  gentleman  find  himself  with  dirty  boots,  old  surtout, 
soiled  neck-cloth,  and  a  general  negligence  of  dress,  he 
will  in  all  probability  find  a  corresponding  disposition  to 
negligence  of  ad-dress.  He  may,  en  deshabille,  curse  and 
swear,  speak  roughly  and  think  coarsely  ;  but  put  the 
same  man  into  full  dress,  and  he  will  feel  himself  quite 
another  person.  To  use  the  language  of  the  blackguard 
would  then  be  out  of  character  :  he  will  talk  smoothlv, 
affect  politeness,  if  he  has  it  not ;  pique  himself  upon  good 
manners,  and  respect  the  women  :  nor  will  the  spell  sub 
side,  until  returning  home,  the  old  surtout,  the  heedless 


238  ARTISTIC    SMUGGLING. 

slippers,  with  other  slovenly  appendages,  make  him  lose 
again  his  brief  consciousness  of  being  a  gentleman.' 


1  Running  a  Land  Blockade '  reminds  us  of  a  trick  played 
by  a  wag  who,  before  the  working  of  the  saline  springs 
of  our  own  glorious  State,  made  it  a  business  to  smuggle 
salt  from  Canada  into  '  the  States.'  One  day,  having  got 
wind  that  he  was  suspected,  he  loaded  his  bags  full  of  saw 
dust,  and  drove  past  the  tavern  where  the  excisemen  were 
waiting  for  him.  He  was  ordered  to  stop,  but  he  only  in 
creased  his  speed.  At  length  he  was  overtaken,  and  his 
load  inspected  with  many  imprecations,  after  which  he  was 
permitted  to  pass  on.  A  day  or  two  after,  he  drove  up 
again  with  a  full  load  of  salt,  and  asked  banteringly,  if  they 
did  n't  want  to  search  him  again.  *  Go  on  !  go  on  ! '  said 
the  excisemen  ;  '  we  Ve  had  enough  of  you  ! ' 


NUMBER    ELEVEN. 

CLINGING  TO  LIFE:  INSOLUBLE  PROBLEMS:  PREMONITIONS  OF  A  CONSUMP- 
TITE:  SUNSHINE  OF  THE  GRAVE:  DEATH  OF  HON.  SILAS  BIGGINS:  CALI- 
FORNLA  PILGRIMS:  A  'LAID-UP'  EAR:  SUGGESTIVE  EPITAPH:  THE  'INXER 
LIFE'  OF  MAX:  A  ' ' NEW '- MILCH '  cow:  A  VOICE  FROM  THE  NTTRSERY:  A 

CONDENSING  CONVERSATIONIST:  DOW  AMONG  THE  TOMBS :  A  CITY  SNOW- 
SCENE  :  LARGE  '  UNDERSTANDING  '  ;  WINTER  LN  THE  COUNTRY  :  SOME 
THOUGHTS  ON  KITES. 

MRS.  XORTOX,  in  «  The  Child  of  Earth?  has  beauti 
fully  illustrated   the   tenacity  with  which  poor  Hu 
manity  clings  to  this  shadowy  existence  : 

FAINTER  her  slow  step  falls  from  day  to  day : 

Death's  hand  is  heavy  on  her  darkening  brow ! 
Yet  doth  she  fondly  cling  to  earth,  and  say : 

'  I  am  content  to  die  —  bnt  oh,  not  now ! 
Not  while  the  blossoms  of  the  joyous  Spring 

Make  the  warm  air  such  luxury  to  breathe ; 
Not  while  the  birds  such  lays  of  gladness  sing, 

Not  while  bright  flowers  around  my  footsteps  wreathe. 
Spare  me,  great  GOD  !  —  lift  up  my  drooping  brow : 
I  am  content  to  die  —  but  oh,  not  now ! ' 

The  spring  hath  ripened  into  summer-time  — 

The  season's  viewless  boundary  is  past; 
The  glorious  sun  hath  reached  his  burning  prime  : 

'  Oh  !  must  this  glimpse  of  beauty  be  the  last « 


240  CLINGING    TO    LIFE. 

Let  me  not  perish  while  o'er  land  and  sea 
With  silent  steps  the  LOED  of  light  moves  on ; 

Not  while  the  murmur  of  the  mountain-bee 
Greets  my  dull  ear,  with  music  in  its  tone. 

Pale  Sickness  dims  my  eye  and  clouds  my  brow  — 

I  am  content  to  die !  —  but  oh !  not  now  ! ' 

Summer  is  gone  ;  and  Autumn's  soberer  hues 

Tint  the  ripe  fruits  and  gild  the  waving  corn ; 
The  huntsman  swift  the  flying  game  pursues, 

Shouts  the  halloo,  and  winds  his  eager  horn. 
'  Spare  me  awhile,  to  wander  forth  and  gaze 

On  the  broad  meadows  and  the  quiet  stream ; 
To  watch  in  silence  while  the  evening  rays 

Slant  through  the  fading  trees  with  ruddy  gleam : 
Cooler  the  breezes  play  around  my  brow  — 
I  am  content  to  die !  but  oh,  not  now ! ' 

The  bleak  wind  whistles:  snow-showers  far  and  near 
Drift  without  echo  to  the  whitening  ground  ; 

Autumn  hath  passed  away,  and  cold  and  drear, 
"Winter  stalks  on,  with  frozen  mantle  bound : 

Yet  still  that  prayer  ascends :  '  Oh !  laughingly 

My  little  brothers  round  the  warm  hearth  crowd; 

Our  home-fire  blazes  broad,  and  bright,  and  high, 
And  the  roof  rings  with  voices  light  and  loud : 

Spare  me  awhile  —  raise  up  my  drooping  brow ! 

I  am  content  to  die !  but  oh  !  —  NOT  NOW  ! ' 


PERHAPS  two  or  three  of  the  questions  which  ensue  may 
be  found  difficult  to  answer.  They  are  worse  than  HOOD'S 
*  Given  C.  A.  B.  to  find  Q. ; '  for  in  that  case  the  student 
had  only  to  get  a  cab,  and  take  a  pleasant  ride  to  Kew, 


INSOLUBLE    PROBLEMS.  241 

near  London,  which  was  very  easily  accomplished,  if  we 
remember  rightly : 

'  IF  three  men  -work  ten  days  on  a  fertile  farm,  what  is  the  logarithm? 

'  If  three  men,  one  of  them  a  colored  man,  and  the  other  a  female,  set  out 
simultaneously,  which  '11  get  there  first  ? 

Required  also,  from  these  premises,  the  time  of  starting,  starting-point,  desti 
nation,  and  the  '  Natural  Number '  belonging  to  the  other. 

'Explanatory  Note:  X  =  0  —  B,  the  probable  age  of  the  parties  multi 
plied  into  the  distance  travelled. 

'  Of  what  use  is  a  compass  without  a  needle,  and  which  way  does  it  point  ? 

'  Note :  X  =  supposed  use.    S  =  South. 

'  What  is  the  required  length  of  a  limited  steel  wire  which  runs  the  other 
way? 

'  Note  —  X  +  X  +  X  =  other  way/ 

In  the  solution  of  the  problem,  '  As  a  General  Thing, 
which  will  do  the  most  Good?'  an  '  allegational  formula' 
is  given,  which  defies  our  types.  The  solution,  however,  it 
is  but  just  to  say,  is  as  clear  as  the  question  itself.  We 
annex  two  or  three  others  : 

'Ix  a  large  household  neither  father  nor  mother  knew  any  thing.  How 
was  it  with  the  family  ? 

'  Is  a  man  ever  justifiable  in  either  case,  and  if  so,  which  f 

Note.  —  2  C  =  Both. 

"  Two  men,  unable  to  travel,  set  out  on  a  journey,  at  different  times,  in  com 
pany  with  a  third  in  the  same  condition.  For  three  hours  the  first  two  kept 
ahead  of  each  other,  when,  a  violent  snow-storm  arising,  all  three  lost  their  way. 

What 's  required  ? 

'  If  a  hard  knot  be  tied  in  a  cat's  tail,  which  way,  how  long,  and  with  what 
success,  will  she  run  after  it  ?  Also,  who  tied  the  knot  ? ' 

The   conditions  of   this  last   problem    are  extremely 
11 


242     PREMONITIONS    OF    A    CONSUMPTIVE-. 

vague :  but  we  cannot  help  thinking  that  many  minds 
have  been  'disciplined'  by  mathematical  problems  which 
were  of  quite  as  much  practical  value  as  this,  or  any  of 
the  others  which  we  have  quoted.  We  beg  leave  to  sub 
join  a  few  kindred  questions,  involving  maritime  law,  the 
science  of  heat,  scripture  history,  etc. : 

1.  SUPPOSE  a  canal-boat  heads  •west-north-west  for  the  horse's  tail,  and  has 
the  wind  abeam,  with  a  flaw  coming  up  in  the  south :  would  the  captain,  ac 
cording  to  maritime  law,  be  justified  in  taking  a  reef  in  the  stove-pipe  with 
out  asking  the  cook? ' 

2.  The  chief  property  of  heat  is,  that  it  expands  bodies,  while  cold  contracts 
them.    Give  a  familiar  example  of  this  operation  of  a  natural  law.    '  Yes,  Sir : 
in  summer,  when  it  is  hot,  the  day  is  long:  in  winter  when  it  is  cold,  the  day 
contracts,  and  becomes  very  short' 

3.  How  much  did  it  cost  per  week  to  pasture  NEBUCHADNEZZAR  during  the 
seven  years  that  he  was  '  out  on  grass  ? ' 

4.  Can  there  be  a  rule  without  an  exception  ?    'Yes:  the  nasal  organ  is  in 
dispensable  to  a  comely  human  countenance.     '  How  beautiful  is  .the  face  of 
Nature ! '—  yet  we  look  in  vain  for  a  nose  1 

Vive  la  Bagatelle  ! 


THE  water  stood  in  our  eyes,  reader,  (and  it  will  stand 
in  yours,  if  you  have  a  heart  to  feel,)  as  we  perused  the 
subjoined  eloquent  passage  of  a  letter  from  a  friend  to 
whom  our  readers  have  often  been  indebted  for  amuse 
ment,  entertainment,  and  instruction.  What  a  startling 
picture  it  presents  of  the  first  approaches  of  that  '  hectic,' 
phthisic,'  '  consumption,'  or  whatever  be  the  favorite  title 


PREMONITIONS    OF    A    CONSUMPTIVE.     243 

of  that  most  wily  and  fatal  foe,  who  in  one  band  presents 
the  insidious  olive-branch,  and  in  the  other  conceals  his  in 
evitable  sword,  cutting  down  Youth  in  its  blossom  and 
Manhood  in  its  fruit !    « For  very  many  years,  from  twelve 
to   two   have  been  my  hours  of  retiring,  and  my  exercise 
has  been  nothing,  or  nearly  so,  during  the  day.     One  re 
sult  has  been,  that  I  have  read  one  half  of  the  Greek  and 
Roman   classics,  and  feasted  largely  in  modern  literature. 
A  parallel  result  has  been,  that  owing  to  corporeal  slug 
gishness  and  nervousness,  the  curse  of  the  sedentary,  I  have 
no  doubt  reaped  less  pleasure  and  profit  than  I  might  have 
done  from  half  that  assiduity  coupled  with  a  due  regard 
to  the  wants  of  the  body.     The  final  result  is,  that  an  iron 
constitution  is  now   largely  disorganized  :  and  from  the 
constant  presence  of  a  dull,  deep,  stationary  pain  in   my 
left  side  beneath  the  ribs,  and  fixed  I  fear  upon  the  lungs, 
I  begin  to  indulge  in  sad  and  deep  forebodings.     Often, 
when   wakened  by  its  painful  urgency,  I  lie  in  the  silence 
of  the  night,  listening  to  my  heart's  deep  beatings,  and 
recall  my  early  and   yet  unfilled  dreams — dreams    oh! 
how  glorious!  —  and  array  before  my  unsated  eyes  this 
world,  with  all  its  lovely  learning,  and  sweet  poetrv,  and 
burning  passion  ;  and  reflect  how  unfit  I  am  to  die,  and 
try  the  conditions  of  a  new  existence,  before  I  have  ful 
filled  the  duties   3nd   perused  the  mysteries  of  this,  and 
then  think  of  the  wormy  bed,  and   anticipate  the  hour 


244  SUNSHINE    OF    THE    G-RAVE. 

when  I  shall  lie  there,  closing  my  eyes  to  color  and  my 
ears  to  sound  ;  the  impatient  longing  I  have  sometimes 
felt  for  death  is  repaid  by  an  indefinable  horror  :  and  be 
tween  the  tenderness  of  natural  regret  and  the  shudder- 
ings  of  unconquerable  awe,  passion  masters  pride,  and 
both  sink  to  meekness  and  humility  in  a  flood  of  gushing- 
tears  ! ' 

THE  late  Professor  CALDWELL,  of  Dickinson  College,  a 
short  time  before  his  death,  said  to  his  wife :  '  You  will 
not,  I  am  sure,  lie  down  upon  your  bed  and  weep,  when  I 
am  gone.  You  will  not  mourn  for  me,  when  GOD  has 
been  so  good  to  me.  And  when  you  visit  the  spot  where 
I  lie,  do  not  choose  a  sad  and  mournful  time :  do  not  go 
in  the  shades  of  evening,  or  in  the  dark  night.  These  are 
no  times  to  visit  the  grave  of  one  who  hopes  and  trusts  in 
a  risen  REDEEMER  !  Come,  dear  wife  !  in  the  morning,  in 
the  bright  sunshine,  and  when  the  birds  are  singing  ! ' 


NOTHING  could  more  thoroughly  impress  us  with  the 
fact,  that  it  is  prett}7  impossible  to  communicate  to  others 
those  ideas  4  whereof  we  ourselves  are  not  possess-ed  of,' 
than  the  following  funereal  discourse,  which  was  recently 
delivered  in  the  Florida  House  of  Representatives.  The 
duty  of  making  it  was  voluntarily  assumed,  and  even  in- 


DEATH    OF    HON.    SILAS    HIGGINS.     245 

• 

sisted  upon,  by  the  speaker,  to  the  no  small  wonder  of  the 
House,  his  utter  incompetency  being  notorious : 

'ME.  SPEAKER:  Sir!  Our  fellow  citizen,  Mr.  SILAS  HIGGIN?,  who  was 
lately  a  member  of  this  branch  of  the  Legislature,  is  dead,  and  he  died  yester 
day  in  the  forenoon.  He  had  the  brown-creaters,  (bronchitis  was  meant,)  and 
was  an  uncommon  individual.  His  character  was  good  up  to  the  time  of  his 
death,  and  he  never  lost  his  woice.  He  was  fifty-six  year  old,  and  was  taken 
sick  before  he  died  at  his  boarding-house,  where  board  can  be  had  at  a  dollar 
and  seventy-five  cents  a  week,  washing  and  lights  included.  He  was  an  inge- 
nus  creetur,  and  in  the  early  part  of  his  life  had  a  father  and  mother.  He 
was  an  ofticer  in  our  state  militia  since  the  last  war,  and  was  brave  and  polite : 
and  his  uncle,  TIMOTHY  HIGGLES,  belonged  to  the  Eevolmionary  war,  and  was 
commissioned  as  lieutenant  by  General  WASHINGTON,  first  President  and  com- 
mander-in-chief  of  the  army  and  navy  of  the  United  States,  who  died  at  Mount 
Vernon,  deeply  lamented  by  a  large  circle  of  friends,  on  the  14th  of  December, 
1799,  or  thereabout,  and  was  buried  soon  after  his  death,  with  military  honors, 
and  several  guns  was  bu'st  in  firing  salutes. 

'  Sir !  Mr.  SPEAJKEE  :  General  WASHINGTON  presided  over  the  great  conti 
nental  Sanhedrim  and  political  meeting  that  formed  our  constitution :  and  he 
was  indeed  a  first-rate  good  man.  He  was  first  in  war,  first  in  peace,  and  first 
in  the  hearts  of  his  countrymen :  and,  though  he  was  in  favor  of  the  United 
States'  Bank,  he  was  a  friend  of  edication :  and  from  what  he  said  in  his  fare 
well  address,  I  have  no  doubt  he  would  have  voted  for  the  tariff  of  1S46,  if  he 
had  been  alive,  and  had  n't  ha'  died  sometime  beforehand.  His  death  was  con 
sidered,  at  the  time,  as  rather  premature,  on  account  of  its  being  brought  on  by 
a  very  hard  cold. 

'  Now,  Mr.  SPEAKER,  such  being  the  character  of  General  WASHINGTON,  I 
motion  that  we  wear  crape  around  the  left  arm  of  this  Legislature,  and  adjourn 
until  to-morrow  morning,  as  an  emblem  of  our  respects  for  the  memory  of 
S.  HIGGINS,  who  is  dead,  and  died  of  the  brown-creaters  yesterday  in  the  fore 
noon  ! ' 

"V\  E  wish  to  embalm  this  eulogy  in  these  pages  as  a 
fine  specimen  of  the  '  Ironic  Style'  of  forensic  eloquence. 


246  CALIFORNIA    PILGRIMS. 


'  THE  cry  is  still  they '  go  —  the  crowded  ships  for  Cali 
fornia  !  Every  steamer  that  arrives,  bringing  the  '  precious 
metal,'  returns  with  hundreds  upon  hundreds  of  eager  ad 
venturers  after  the  '  dust,'  beside  inciting  all  sorts  of  water- 
craft  and  all  sorts  of  people  to  follow  in  their  wake :  while 
innumerable  land-companies  and  caravans  are  moving  on 
ward  to  the  same  land  *  of  promise.  Ah !  how  few  of 
these  gold-seekers  think  of  the  discomforts,  the  privations, 
the  perils,  they  may  have  to  encounter!  —  or  how  many 
who  have  gone,  with  light  and  eager  hearts,  before  them, 
worn  down  by  disease  and  suffering,  have  '  laid  them  down 
in  their  last  sleep  ! '  And  there,  by  the  bleak  sierra's  side, 
or  the  rushing  river's  bank,  they  rest  in  their  distant 
graves  : 

'  No  stone  nor  monumental  cross 
Tells  where  their  mouldering  ashes  lie, 
"Who  sought  for  gold  and  found  it  dross  1 ' 


THAT  was  an  unfortunate  member  of  the  English  Par 
liament  whose  seat,  when  Secretary,  was  the  outside  one, 
next  to  a  passage-way.  He  said  that  so  many  members 
used  to  come  perpetually  to  whisper  to  him,  and  the  buzz 
of  importunity  was  so  heavy  and  continuous,  that  before 
one  claimant's  words  had  got  out  of  his  ear,  the  demand 
of  another  forced  its  way  in,  till  the  ear-drum,  being  over- 


SUGGESTIVE    EPITAPH.  247 

charged,  absolutely  burst :  which,  he  said,  turned  out  con 
veniently  enough,  as  he  was  then  obliged  to  stuff  the 
organ  tight,  and  tell  every  gentleman  that  his  physician 
had  directed  him  not  to  use  that  ear  at  all,  and  the  other 
as  little  as  possible !  Some  of  our  office-givers  had  better 
adopt  a  similar  ruse. 


IN  some  grave-yards  one  shall  scarcely  see  a  stone 
that  has  not  a  pious  verse,  or  a  passage  from  Scripture, 
after  the  general  inscription  :  and  that  these  are  not  al 
ways  appropriate,  or  in  the  best  taste,  we  have  sometimes 
shown  in  the  KNICKERBOCKER.  The  following  inscription 
may  be  seen  on  a  grave-stone  in  the  county  of  Greene,  in 
this  State  :  *  Here  lies  the  body  of  JOHANNES  SMITH,  ao-ed 
sixty-four  years  and  two  months.  '  Go  thou  and  do 
likewise  ! ' '  Comprehensive,  that ! 


1  The  Inner  Life  of  Man]  delivered  by  Mr.  CHARLES 
HOOVER,  at  Newark,  Xew  Jersey,  is  an  admirable  per 
formance.  From  it  we  derive  the  following  beautiful 
passage,  which  we  commend  to  the  heart  of  every  lover 
of  his  kind  :  '  It  is  a  maxim  of  patriotism  never  to  despair 
of  the  republic.  Let  it  be  the  motto  of  our  philanthropy 
never  to  despair  of  our  sinning,  sorrowing  brother,  till  his 


248         THE    'INNER    LIFE'    OF    MAN. 

last  lingering  look  upon  life  has  been  taken,  and  all 
avenues  by  which  angels  approach  the  stricken  heart  are 
closed  and  silent  forever.  And  in  such  a  crisis,  let  no 
counsel  be  taken  of  narrow,  niggard  sentiment.  When  in 
a  sea-storm  some  human  being  is  seen  in  the  distant  surf, 
clinging  to  a  plank,  that  is  sometimes  driven  nearer  to  the 
shore,  and  sometimes  carried  farther  off ;  sometimes  buried 
in  the  surge,  and  then  rising  again,  as  if  itself  struggling 
like  the  almost  hopeless  sufferer  it  supports,  who  looks 
sadly  to  the  shore  as  he  rises  from  every  wave,  and  battling 
with  the  billow,  mingles  his  cry  for  help  with  the  wild, 
mournful  scream  of  the  sea-bird  :  Nature,  in  every  bosom 
on  the  shore,  is  instinct  with  anxious  pity  for  his  fate,  and 
darts  her  sympathies  to  him  over  the  laboring  waters. 
The  child  drops  his  play-things,  and  old  age  grasps  its 
crutch  and  hurries  to  the  spot ;  and  the  hand  that  cannot 
fling  a  rope  is  lifted  to  heaven  for  help.  What  though 
the  sufferer  be  a  stranger,  a  foreigner,  an  enemy  even  ? 
Nature  in  trouble,  in  consternation,  shrieks  '  He  is  a 
man!"1  and  every  heart  and  hand  is  prompt  to  the 
rescue ! ' 

IT  is  amusing  enough  to  remark  the  ignorance  of 
town-bred  children  of  the  commonest  matters  of  country 
life.  A  friend  tells  us  that  a  little  girl  from  the  metropolis, 
who  had  visited  a  country  town  not  a  thousand  miles  from 


A      VOICE      FROM      THE      N  U  R  S  E  R  Y .  249 

New- York,  was  filled  with  surprise  at  the  sight  of  a  o-irl 
milking  a  cow.  'I  did  n't  know  that  you  did  it  that 
way!'  she  exclaimed,  with  'round-eyed  wonder:'  'I 
thought  they  took  hold  of  the  cow's  tail  and  pumped  the 
milk  out  of  her  !  What 's  she  got  so  long  a  tail  for  ? ' 
There  was  a  wise  child  for  this  '  enlightened  nineteenth 
century ! ' 


HEARING  fointly,  just  now,  from  the  nursery  overhead, 
the  faithful  nurse  MARY-AXX  rocking  and  plaintively  sing 
ing  to  the  little  girl  of  two  years  in  her  arms,  who  is  very 
fair  and  dear  in  the  eyes  and  hearts  of  those  who  love  her 
best,  we  opened  the  sanctum-door  into  the  hall,  and  lis 
tened  to  hear  the  melody  take  shape  in  these  words  : 


'  EOCK  of  Ages !  cleft  for  me, 
Let  me  hide  myself  in  TUEE  ! 
Let  the  water  and  the  blood 
From  TUY  riven  side  which  flowed 
Be  of  Sin  the  double  cure : 
Cleanse  me  from  its  guilt  and  power ! 

'Not  the  labors  of  my  hands 
Can  fulfil  TIIY  law's  commands  : 
Could  my  zeal  no  respite  know, 
Could  my  tears  forever  flow, 
All  for  sin  could  not  atone  : 
THOU  must  save,  and  THOU  alone ! 


11* 


250     A     CONDENSING    CONVERSATIONIST. 

'  Nothing  in  my  hand  I  bring, 
Simply  to  THY  cross  I  cling : 
Naked,  come  to  THEE  for  dress, 
Helpless,  look  to  THEE  for  grace : 
Foul,  I  to  the  Fountain  fly, 
Wash  me,  SAVIOTJE  !  or  I  die ! 

'  While  I  draw  this  fleeting  breath, 
When  my  eyes  are  closed  in  death, 
When  I  soar  to  worlds  unknown, 
To  meet  THEE  on  THY  judgment  throne, 
EOCK  OF  AGES  !  cleft  for  me, 
Let  me  hide  myself  in  THEE  ! ' 

Now  as  we  closed  the  door,  and  resumed  the  pen,  we 
were  conscious  of  a  glow  of  gratitude  in  our  bosom,  that 
GOD  had  made  the  heart  of  Woman  tender  and  loving  of 
infancy  and  childhood,  and  that  the  delegated  guardian  of 
our  own  little  lambs  reverently  remembered  the  GOOD 
SHEPHERD,  into  whose  fold  we  hope  they  shall  one  day  be 
gathered. 

DID  you  never  meet  with  a  condensing  conversationist, 
like  DICKENS'S  '  Mrs.  GAMP  ? '  We  have  heard  many  an 
old  female  gossip  'lump'  the  subjects  of  conversation  in 
precisely  the  manner  of  that  gentle  and  temperate  nurse. 
Here  is  a  fair  specimen  of  her  power  of  compression,  and 
of  her  skill  in  hitting  two  or  more  birds  with  one  stone : 

'Now  ain't  we  rich  in  beauty  this  here  joyful  afternoon,  I'm  sure!    I 
knows  a  lady,  which  her  name,  I'll  not  deceive  you,  Mrs.  CHUZZLEWIT,  is 


D  O  W      AMONG      THE      T  O  M  B  S  .  25 1 

HAERIS;  her  husband's  brother  bein'  six  foot  three,  and  marked  with  a  mad 
bull  in  "WELLINGTON  boots  upon  his  left  arm,  on  account  of  his  precious 
mother  havin'  been  -worrited  by  one  into  a  shoemaker's  shop,  when  in  a  siri- 
wation  which  blessed  is  the  man  as  has  his  quiver  full  of  sech,  as  many  times 
I  've  said  to  GAMP  when  words  has  roge  betwixt  us  on  account  of  the  expense : 
and  often  have  I  said  to  Mrs.  HAEEIS,  •  Oh,  Mrs.  HAEBIS,  Ma'am !  your  coun 
tenance  is  quite  a  angels ! '  —  which,  but  for  pimples,  it  would  be.  •  No,  SAIRET 
GAMP,'  says  she,  '  you  best  of  hard-workin'  and  industrious  creeturs  as  ever 
was  underpaid  at  any  price,  which  underpaid  you  are  —  quite  different  HAEEIS 
had  it  done  afore  marriage  at  ten-and-«ix,r  she  says,  'and  wore  it  faithful  next 
his  heart  till  the  color  run,  when  the  money  was  declined  to  be  give  back,  and 
no  arrangement  could  be  come  to.  But  he  never  said  it  was  a  angel's,  SAIRET, 
•wotever  he  might  have  thought.  If  Mrs.  HARRIS'S  husband  was  here  now,'  said 
Mrs.  GAMP,  looking  round,  and  chuckling  as  she  dropped  a  general  courtesy, 
'he'd  speak  out  plain,  he  would,  and  his  dear  wife  would  be  the  last  to  blame 
him :  for  if  ever  a  woman  lived  as  know'd  not  wot  it  was  to  form  a  wish  to  pizon 
them  as  had  good  looks,  and  had  no  reagion  give  her  by  the  best  of  husbands, 
Mrs.  HAEEIS  is  that  'ev'nly  dispogician  ! ' 


A  SHAKER  friend  at  Hancock  told  us  recently  that  he 
saw  LORENZO  Dow  '  walking  among  the  tombs,'  alone,  and 
muttering  to  himself,  early  one  morning,  in  the  principal 
grave-yard  of  a  village  in  Connecticut.  He  soon  collected 
a  great  number  of  lookers-on,  when  he  mounted  the  stone 
wall,  and  exclaimed  in  his  peculiar  voice :  *  One  year  from 
this  day  I  shall  preach  on  this  spot  at  six  o'clock  in  the 
morning.  And  I  want  you  to  know  that  when  I  say  six, 
I  mean  six :  I  do  n't  mean  seven,  nor  eight.'  Of  course 
the  news  of  this  appointment  soon  spread  'through  all  the 
region  of  the  country  round  about.'  Just  twelve  months 


252  A    CITY    SNOW -SCENE. 

from  that  day,  at  precisely  six  in  the  morning,  and  in 
presence  of  more  than  twenty  thousand  people,  LORENZO 
rose  from  the  long  rank  grass  of  the  grave-yard,  where  he 
had  been  sleeping,  mounted  the  wall,  and  preached  a  fan 
tastic,  quaint,  yet  eloquent  discourse,  '  which  will  never  be 
forgotten,'  said  our  informant,  '  by  any  who  heard  it.' 


IT  has  been  snowing  since  last  night's  gloaming  :  a 
soft,  warm,  driving,  feathery  snow  :  we  felt  a  premonition 
of  it  '  in  our  bones '  last  evening,  while  \ve  were  scrib 
bling  :  and  this  morning,  lo !  the  bare  trees  in  the  street 
are  all  piled  up  with  the  '  gently-frozen  rain  : '  so  are  the 
window-shutters  and  the  lamp-posts ;  and  there  is  a  muf 
fled  sound  of  shovelling  snow  from  the  balconies,  steps, 
and  side-walks ;  and  the  ringing  laughter  of  children, 
amid  the  faint  banging  of  window-shutters  in  the  gusty 
but  attempered  wind,  is  also  heard :  '  Young  KNICK.' 
among  them,  too,  with  a  pair  of  paternal  boots,  ('  a  world 
too  wide '  for  his  little  '  supporters,')  which  he  longs  to  be 
big  enough  to  wear.  Ah,  well-a-day  !  'When  I  am  a 
man  ? '  is  the  poetry  of  Childhood  :  '  When  I  was  a  boy] 
is  the  poetry  of  Age  ! 

A  NORTHERN  correspondent  sends  us  the  following, 
which  was  suggested  by  the  '  Number  twelve,  pegged 


LARGE    'UNDERSTANDING.'  253 

heel '  anecdote  in  our  last  gossipry :  *  An  amazing  pair  ot 
feet  appeared  in  the  bar-room  of  an  ambitious  village-inn, 
late  ooe  evening,  the  owner  of  which  inquired  anxiously 
for  the  boot-black.  The  bell  rang  nervously,  and  in  a  mo 
ment  a  keen  Yankee  illustrator  of  'DAY  AND  MARTIN'S 
best'  popped  into  the  room.  'Bring  me  a  jack!'  ex 
claimed  the  man  of  great  *  under-standing.'  The  waiter 
in  voluntarily  started  forward,  but  chancing  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  the  boots,  he  stopped  short,  and  after  another 
and  closer  examination  said,  with  equal  twang  and  em 
phasis  :  '  I  say  yeon,  you  aint  a-goin'  to  leave  this  world 
in  a  hurry ;  you  Ve  got  too  good  a  hold  onto  the  ground. 
Want  a  boot-jack,  eh  ?  Why,  bless  your  soul,  there  aint 
a  boot-jack  on  airth  big  enuff  for  them  boots  !  I  do  n't 
b'lieve  that  a  jack-ass  could  get  'em  oft?  '  My  stars ! 
man  ! '  cried  our  friend  of  the  big  feet,  '  what  '11  I  do  ?  I 
can't  get  my  boots  off  without  a  jack  ? '  'I  tell  you  what 
/  should  do,'  replied  '  BOOTS,'  '  if  they  was  mine :  I 
should  walk  back  to  the  fork  of  the  road,  and  pull  'em  off 
there !  That  would  fetch  'em,  I  guess  ! '  ' 


WE  have  had  a  taste  of  Winter:  and  we  are  ready  to 
make  affidavit,  that  sleighing  is  one  of  its  greatest  delights. 
There  is  scarcely  any  scene  of  life,  that  can  surpass  the 
bustle  and  excitement  of  a  great  city,  in  sleighing  time. 


254  WINTER    IN    THE    COUNTRY. 

Merry  bells  ;  gliding '  cutters,'  sleighs,  'pungs1 —  every  thing 
that  has  runners,  and  can  be  drawn  by  cattle  —  bright  faces, 
scores  of  parties,  huddled  in  sweet  hay,  under  warm  buf 
falo-skins  :  mulled  wine :  what  a  delicious  assemblage  of 
pleasant  matters !  Reader,  did  you  never  engage  in  a 
sleigh-ride  ?  Then  is  the  elixir  of  life  by  you  untasted. 
Go  out  on  a  mild  morning  in  winter,  ten  miles  from  the 
city,  over  a  well-trodden  road,  after  a  deep  snow,  which  a 
slight  north-east  mist,  dying  away  at  last  in  a  southern 
lull,  makes  damp  and  glib !  Mark  the  brown  woods  :  the 
blue  hills,  pale,  clear,  and  stately  in  the  distance  :  the  im 
prisoned  rivers,  where  the  skater  wheels  on  his  shining 
heel ;  the  whitened  plains  ;  the  clouds,  richly  bedight  with 
every  hue  !  'Tis  a  sight  to  remember : 


'  Go  when  the  rains 


Have  glazed  the  snow,  and  clothed  the  trees  with  ice ; 

While  the  slant  sun  of  February  pours 

Into  the  bowers  a  flood  of  light.     Approach ! 

The  encrusted  surface  shall  upbear  thy  steps, 

And  the  broad  arching  portals  of  the  grove 

Welcome  thy  entering.    Look !  the  mossy  trunks 

Are  cased  in  the  pure  crystal :  each  light  spray, 

Nodding  and  tinkling  in  the  breath  of  heaven, 

Is  studded  with  its  trembling  water  drops, 

That  stream  with  rainbow  radiance  as  they  move : 

But  round  the  parent  stem,  the  long  low  boughs 

Bend  in  a  glittering  ring,  and  arbors  hide 

The  grassy  floor.     Oh !  you  might  deem  the  spot 

The  spacious  cavern  of  the  virgin  mine, 


SOME     THOUGHTS    ON    KITES.          255 

Deep  in  the  womb  of  earth  —  where  the  gems  grow. 

And  diamonds  put  forth  radiant  rods,  and  bud 

With  amethyst  and  topaz  —  and  the  place 

Lit  up  most  royally,  with  the  pure  beam 

That  dwells  within  them.    Or  haply  the  vast  hall 

Of  fairy  palace,  that  outlasts  the  night, 

And  fades  not  in  the  glory  of  the  sun : 

"Where  crystal  columns  send  forth  slender  shafts 

And  crossing  arches :  and  fantastic  aisles 

"Wind  from  the  sight  in  brightness,  and  are  lost 

Among  the  crowded  pillars.    Eaise  thine  eye : 

Thou  seest  no  cavern  roof,  no  palace  vault : 

There  the  blue  sky  and  the  white  drifting  cloud 

Look  in.    Again  the  wildered  fancy  dreams 

Of  spouting  fountains,  frozen  as  they  rose, 

And  fixed,  with  all  their  branching  jets,  in  air, 

And  all  their  sluices  sealed.    All,  all  is  light  — 

Light  without  shade  ! 


APRIL  has  come  again:  and  the  kite-season  has 
opened  with  great  activity.  Did  you  ever  remark,  when 
Nature  begins  to  waken  from  her  winter-sleep  ;  when  the 
woods  *  beyond  the  swelling  floods '  of  the  rivers  begin  to 
redden ;  when  the  snow  has  left  us,  and  the  city-trees  are 
about  leave-ing  ;  when  the  first  airs  of  spring  assume  their 
natural  blandness  ;  when  ladies  are  out  with  their  '  spring 
hats '  and  carmen  with  their  spring-carts  ;  how  innumer- 
ous  kites  begin  to  thicken  in  the  air  ?  Yonder  a  big  un 
wieldy  fellow  rises  with  calm  dignity,  trailing  his  long  tail 
with  great  propriety  behind  him ;  here  a  little  bustling 


256          SOME    THOUGHTS    ON    KITES. 

creature  ducks  and  dives,  coquetting  first  on  this  side,  then 
on  that ;  until  finally  turning  two  or  three  somersets,  it 
almost  reaches  the  earth  ;  but  soon  rises  at  a  tangent,  and 
sails  far  up  into  the  bright  blue  firmament.  Look  !  the 
air  is  full  of  them !  It  is  a  charming  amusement,  this 
kite-flying  of  the  boys.  "We  greatly  affect  it,  even  now, 
although  we  are  l  out  of  our  'teens  ! '  There  is  something 
ethereal  in  it ;  something  that  lifts  up  the  young  admi 
ration. 

'  To  that  blue  vault  and  sapphire  wall 
That  overhangs  and  circles  all,' 

and  the  mysterious  realm  that  lies  beyond  its  visible  con 
fines.  Our  metropolitan  juveniles  do  n't  know  how  to 
construct  'em.  Thin,  tissue-paper  things,  with  no  shape  to 
them  beyond  that  of  a  confused  sexagon,  no  place  for  a 
head,  and  less  for  a  tail,  these  are  the  machines  you  see 
fluttering  and  bobbing,  ducking  and  sidling,  in  the  sky  of 
Gotham.  How  unlike  the  walnut-bow  and  cedar-shaft 
kite  of  the  ked'ntry ;  with  its  red-worsted  wings  '  a  fljip- 
pink  in  the  hair,'  as  YELLOWPLUSH  says,  its  firmament  of 
bright  paper-stars  gleaming  in  the  sun  ;  its  long  flaunting 
tail  moving  gracefully  with  the  mass  above  it,  its  tasselled 
end  waving  like  the  tail-fin  of  a  fish,  that  gracefullest  of 
moving  things.  Ah  !  those  were  the  kites ;  and  it  was 
from  such  specimens  of  'high  art' that  we  derived  our 
love  of  them,  which  to  this  day  has  never  left  us  ;  as  many 


SOME    THOUGHTS    ON    K'ITES.          257 

a  lad  can  testify,  who  has  been  flying  kites  in  our  '  beat,' 
as  we  daily  wend  to  and  from   the  sanctum.     We  confi 
dently  ask  our  juvenile  friends,  did  we  ever  see  a  kite,  how 
soever  small  or  ignoble,  lodged  in  a  tree,  or  on  a  telegraph 
wire,  or  twisted  round  a  telegraph-pole,   or  a  chimney, 
without  rendering  immediate  and  '  valuable  assistance  ? ' 
Never!  — and  if  the  dyspeptic  Wall- street   broker,  who 
called  the  attention  of  his  sneering  chum  the  other  morn 
ing  to  '  Old  KXICK.'  descending  a  tree,  a  disabled  kite  in 
his  hand,  and  a  '  solution  of  continuity '  in  his  trowser- 
loons,  will  call  up  in   our  street,  we  will  give  him  a  little 
illustration  of  the  'luxury  of  doing  good.'     The  bright, 
golden-haired   boy  who   owned    that   kite,  Mr.  BROKE*, 
knows  how  to  be  grateful ;  and  if  we  should  hereafter  ever 
flourish  in  Wall-street,  in  your  line,  he  would  send  us  the 
best  of  shaving -'paper 'to  be  had  in  'the  street;'  and 
we  can  tell  you  too,  Mr.  POLITICIAN,  that  if  in  the  pro 
gress  of  events,  we  should  chance  to  be  '  up '  for  some  of 
fice  in  the  gift  of  this  our  good  old  KNICKERBOCKER   city, 
that  lad  would  be  'good  for'  fifty  votes.      We  can   only 
say,  that  once  in  a  municipal  office,  of  the  proper  de 
scription,  our  best  exertions  shall  not  be  wanting  to  '  put 
down'   the    tele.o-raph- poles    and    wires.     Electricity  is    a 
'good  institution,'  no  doubt,  and  enables  us  to  'enjoy  our 
murders'  in  the  morning  papers  to  a  greater  extent   than 
formerly  ;  but  telegraphs  were  never  intended  to  interfere 


258          SOME    THOUGHTS    ON    KITES. 

with  the  '  vested  rights '  of  boys  engaged  in  kite-flying : 
never!  The  destruction  in  this  branch  of  business  is 
greatly  increasing.  Look  at  the  ragged  skeletons,  the  al 
most  fossil  remains,  that  flap  and  writhe  upon  the  wires 
and  posts,  where  they  have  been  gibbetted  —  '  lean,  rent 
and  beggared  by  the  strumpet  wind  !  '  '  What  '  underlies' 
all  this  evil?  The  telegraph  system.  Boys,  'To  the 
poles  !  down  with  the  poles  ! '  should  be  the  rallying  cry. 
They  are  aristocratic :  they  are  unconstitutional :  they  are 
worse  than  the  '  WILMOT  proviso!'  Such  and  so  many 
have  been  the  wrecks  of  kites,  *  sailing  on  the  high  seas 
of  air,'  that  juvenile  enterprise  has  been  diverted  to  other 
channels ;  and  a  virulent  eruption  of  whip-tops,  '  groaning 
under  the  lash,'  has  broken  out,  and  is  spreading  all  over 
the  metropolis ;  driving  the  aged  from  the  walks,  invading 
the  delicate  feet  and  ankles  of  our  lovely  female  pedestri 
ans,  and  playing  the  very  deuce  with  the  interior  of  their 
beautiful  white  under-dresses. 


NUMBER    TWELVE. 


REFINEMENT  OF  IMPUDENCE  :  COMING-ON  OF  SPRING  :  WHAT  IS  GOING  ON 
'  NOW  ' :  A  '  DUMB  OKATOE  ' :  THE  ORNAMENTAL  SEMPSTRESS  :  LIFE'S  '  COM 
PENSATION  ':  MONITORY  'MERACLES':  LINE>  BY  'LORD  NOZOO':  THE 
MYSTERY  OF  SPRING  :  A  LOCOMOTIVE  ANTAGONIST  :  A  '  MISTY  '  PUN  I 
CRISPIN  NONPLUSSED :  A  '  PATCHED-UP  '  SERMON :  A  PROTESTED  REFER 
ENCE  I  YANKEE  'CUTENESS  IN  WALL-STREET  I  A  MODERN  SACRED  PORTRAIT : 
A  DUBIOUS  EULOGY:  'OLD  KNICK'S.  '  PREDICTION:  SWEARING  'IN  NAME': 
FUNERAL-TREES  OF  THE  INDIANS. 


IX  olden  times  there  was  a  distinct  class  of  itinerants 
in  New-England,  who  were  called  '  cider-beggars.'  One 
of  them,  on  a  Sunday  morning,  called  at  a  farm-house, 
and  finding  only  the  '  woman  of  the  house'  at  home,  was 
quite  importunate  in  his  demands  for  '  Old-Orchard.'  He 
was  firmly  and  perseveringly  denied.  As  a  last  resort,  he 
reminded  the  pious  lady  that  she  should  remember  the 
Scriptural  injunction  to  entertain  strangers,  *  for  thereby 
many  had  entertained  angels  unawares.'  '  I  will  risk  that,' 
said  she  :  '  for  who  ever  heard  of  an  angel  going  about 
Sunday  morning  begging  for  cider  ! ' 

'  I  advise  you  to  go  to  work,'  said  an  American  in  Lon 
don  to  a  beggar,  who  was  pertinaciously  beseeching  him 
for  a  shilling :  '  vou  are  a  heartv,  hale  fellow  :  I  advise 


260  COMING-ON    OF    SPRING. 

you  to  go  to  work.'  '  I  asked  you  for  your  money :  I 
did  n't  ask  you  for  your  advice  ! '  was  the  cool  reply.  Al 
most  as  impudent  as  the  Spanish  mounted  beggar  in 
Valparaiso,  who  replied  to  the  remark  of  a  pedestrian 
traveller,  '  Why,  Sir,  you  come  to  beg  of  ine,  who  am 
compelled  to  go  on  foot,  while  you  ride  on  horseback  ! ' 
4  Very  true,  Sir ;  and  I  have  the  more  need  to  beg,  for  I 
have  to  support  my  horse  and  myself  too  :  so  be  so  good 
as  to  hand  over ! '  So  very  reasonable  was  this  proposi 
tion,  that  it  was  at  once  complied  with  ! 


'  COLD  winter-ice  is  fled  and  gone, 

And  Summer  brags  on  every  tree : 
The  red-breast  peeps  among  the  throng 
Of  wood-brown  birds  that  wanton  be.' 

Yes  :  and  now  how  pleasant  to  the  husbandman  is 
1  all  the  land  about,  and  all  the  flowers  that  blow:'  the 
springing  grass,  the  budding-trees,  the  smell  of  the  fresh- 
ploughed  earth,  the  transparent  briskness  of  the  spring 
tide  air !  Season  of  hope  and  promise  to  the  independent, 
happy  cultivator  of  the  soil !  As  a  quaint  old  English 
poet  says  : 

'TiiE  earthe  to  entertaine  him 

Puts  on  his  best  arraye ; 
The  loftie  trees  and  lowly  shrubbs 

Likewise  are  fresh  and  gaye : 


WHAT    is    GOING    ox    -Now.'         261 


The  birds  to  bid  him  welcome 
Doe  warble  pleasant  notes : 

The  beaste,  the  fielde,  the  forest 
Cast  off  theire  winter  coates.' 


DID  you  ever  have  the  thought  of  WHAT  is  NOW at 

the  moment  while  you  happen  to  think  that  you  are  think 
ing —  in  Event  and  in  Nature,  in  various   and  far-divided 
parts  of  the  world  ?     Say  of  scenery,  for  example :  your 
imagination  shall  take  you  to  the  vast  crackling  ice-fields 
of  Norway,  or  the  rushing  maelstrom,  circling  and  eddy 
ing  day  and  night,  as  it  '  sweeps  its  awful  cycle  :'  or  the 
vast  Niagara  cataract  rolling  its  solemn  roaring  floods  to 
Ontario   and  the  Atlantic ;  or  the  sublime  rocky  heights 
that  lie  between  us   and  the  Pacific,   and   the   boundless 
prairie-fields  that  stretch  away  from  their  '  giant  feet : '  or 
some  transcendent  villa  in  Italy,  sleeping  in  the  purple  air 
under  Alpine  shadows,  with  groups  of  figures,  such  as  are 
seen    in    antique  marbles:  or  in  some  kindred  scene  in 
India,  where  the  evening's  breath  is  oppressive  with  per 
fume,  and  the  rudest  sound  that  breaks  the  stillness  is  the 
sweet  coo  of  the   wood-pigeon,  or  the  sudden  flight  of  a 
flock  of  gay  parrots :  or  where  the  blessed  Nile  distributes 
along  the  vale  of  Egypt    the  gifts   of  the  MOST  HIGH,  or 
the  minarets  rise  from  the  midst  of  golden  clusters  of  cas 
sia-trees  :  or  where  the  Arab  gathers  his  harvest  of  yellow 


262  A    'DUMB    ORATOR.' 

dates,  or  with  the  remote  inhabitants  of  countries  that  the 
sun  delays  to  look  upon  ?  Did  you  ever  think  of  Nature 
in  this  way,  at  one  and  the  same  moment  ?  —  and  in  the 
like  manner  of  Events  ?  In  one  country,  fierce  battles 
raging;  in  another,  the  people  just  beginning  to  rejoice  in 
the  beams  of  peace ;  here  national  happiness  and  tran 
quillity  ;  there  discord  and  grief;  a  land  '  rent  with  civil 
feuds,  and  drenched  in  fraternal  blood  ? ' 


IT  is  generally  known,  we  believe,  that  a  deaf  person 
by  watching  the  motions  of  a  speaker's  lips  can  under 
stand  what  one  is  saying.  We  have  heard  of  a  Quaker 
woman,  who  was  deaf,  who  used  regularly  to  go  to  meet 
ing,  and  without  hearing  a  single  word,  could  nevertheless 
report  every  thing  that  was  said.  One  '  First-day '  she 
came  home  without  being  able  to  give  any  account  of  the 
discourse.  Her  vision  was  impaired  :  and  when  asked  in 
relation  to  the  '  exercise,'  she  replied  :  *  I  can't  tell  any 
thing  about  it :  I  went  to  meeting  and  forgot  my  spec 
tacles  ! ' 


READ  this,  0  daughter  of  Wealth  !  and  ponder  it 
well.  Let  it  sink  into  your  heart  of  hearts,  and  be  the 
means  of  awakening  there  some  sympathy  for  a  toiling, 
suffering  sister,  who  by  no  fault  of  hers  is  the  serf  she  is : 


LIFE'S    'COMPENSATION.'  263 

'  HARK,  that  rustle  of  a  dress, 

Stiff  with  lavish  costliness ; 

Here  comes  one  whose  cheeks  would  flush 

But  to  have  her  garments  brush 

'Gainst  the  girl  whose  fingers  thin 

Wove  the  weary  broidery  in : 

And  in  midnight's  chill  and  mirk 
-     Stitched  her  life  into  the  work : 
Bending  backward  from  her  toil, 
Lest  her  tears  the  silk  might  soil : 
Shaping  from  her  bitter  thought 
Hearfs-ease  and  Forget  me-not : 
Satirizing  her  despair 
With  the  emblems  woven  there !  '- 

These   lines,   which  would   do  honor  to  any  poet  in 
Christendom,  are  from  the  pen  of  JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL. 


WE  do  not  often  envy  any  human  being  :  but  we  con 
fess  to  having  entertained  something  of  tin's  feeling  toward 
the  possessor  of  a  beautiful  house  and  charming  grounds, 
which  we  pass  daily,  in  a  fashionable  quarter  of  the  town, 
during  the  pleasant  October  days.  But  one  morning  we 
saw  the  owner  among  his  grapes  and  flowers  and  foun 
tains  :  a  tall,  care-worn,  thin-visaged  man,  who  stood 
tremblingly  on  'his  pins'  and  surveyed  his  beautiful  pos 
sessions.  Ah  !  thought  we,  there  is  a  '  compensation  '  in 
every  thing/  « What  pleasure  can  it  be  to  thee,'  says  an 
eloquent  divine,  'to  wrap  the  living  skeleton  in  purplJ,  and 


264  MONITORY    ;  M  E  R  A  c  L  E  s . ' 

wither  alive  in  cloth-of-gold,  when  the  clothes  serve  only 
to  upbraid  the  uselessness  of  thy  limbs,  and  the  rich  fare 
only  reproaches  thee,  and  tantalizes  the  weakness  of  thy 
stomach!  Sir  'let  us  to  our  mutton,'  with  that  good  di 
gestion  which  waits  on  an  appetite  that  is  most  like  a 
hungry  anaconda's. 


A  FRIEND  of  ours  from  the  South,  mentioned  the 
other  day  a  funeral  sermon  which  he  heard  in  North  Car 
olina  not  long  since,  that  set  even  our  associate  OWL 

a- winking.    Parson  S ,  a  rather  eccentric  character,  was 

called  upon  to  '  preach  the  funeral '  of  a  hard  case,  named 
RANN,  which  he  did  in  the  following  unique  style  :  '  My 
beloved  brethren  and  sistern  :  ef  our  dear  departed  brother 
RANN  would  a-wanted  somebody  to  come  here,  and  tell 
lies  about  him,  and  make  him  out  a  better  man  than  lie 
war,  he  would  n  t  a-chose  me  to  '  preach  his  funeral.'  No, 
my  brethren,  he  wanted  to  be  held  up  as  a  burnin'  and  a 
shinin'  light  to  warn  you  from  the  error  of  your  ways. 
He  kept  horses,  and  he  run'd  'em ;  he  kept  chickens,  and 
he  fou't  'em ;  he  kept  women,  and  there  sits  his  widow 
who  can  prove  it.  (The  widow  sat  directly  in  front  of  the 
pulpit,  and  here  gave  an  affirmatory  nod.)  Our  dear  de 
parted  brother  had  many  warnin's,  brethren.  The  first 
warnin'  was  when  he  broke  his  leg,  but  he  still  went  on  in 
the  error  of  his  wavs.  The  second  warnin'  was  when  his 


LINES    BY    -LORD     Nozoo.'  265 

son  PETE  hung  himself  in  jail  ;  and  the  last  and  greatest 
warnin'  of  all  was  when  he  died  himself  ! '     The  preacher 
enlarged  on  these  topics  until  he  had  sunk  RAXX  so  low 
that  his   hearers  began  to  doubt  whether  he  would  ever 
succeed  in  getting  him  up  again,  and,  as  is  usual  in  l  fu 
nerals,'   landing  him  safely  in  ABRAHAM'S  bosom.     This 
was   the  object  of  the   second  part  of  the  sermon,  which 
started  off  thus:     'My    brethren,  there  '11   be  great  me- 
racles,  cjrcat  meracles  in  HEAVEX.     And   the  first  meracle 
will  be,  that  many  you  expect  to  find  there  you   won't  see 
there.     The  people  that  go  round  with  long  faces,  makin' 
long  prayers,  won't  be  there  ;  and  the  second  meracle  will 
be,  that  many  you  do  n't  expect  to  find  there,  as   perhaps 
some  won't  expect  to  find  our  dear  departed  brother  RAXX, 
you  '11  see  there :  and  the  last  and  greatest  meracle  will 
be,  to  find  yourselves  there  ! '     '  There  is  not   one  single 
word  of  exaggeration,'  said  the  narrator,  l  in  this.     It  is  a 
literal  transcript.' 

THE  following  lines  were  penned  by  Lord  Xozoo,  in 

167-      They  first  appeared  in  the ,  about  the  time 

of  the  reign  of  the  first  -       — ,  in  England  : 

'  FOR  rears,  upon  a  mountain's  brow, 
A  hermit  lived  —  the  LORD  knows  how. 

1  Plain  was  his  dress,  and  coarse  his  fare  ; 
He  got  his  food  —  tbe  LORD  knows  where 

12 


266  THE    MYSTERY    OF    SPRING, 

'  His  prayers  were  short,  his  wants  were  few ; 
He  had  a  friend  —  the  LORD  knows  who. 

'No  care  nor  trouble  vexed  his  lot; 
He  had  a  wish  —  the  LORD  knows  what. 

'  At  length  this  holy  man  did  die ; 
He  left  the  world  —  the  LORD  knows  why. 

'  He  's  buried  in  a  gloomy  den, 
And  he  shall  rise  —  the  LORD  kno\vs  when  ! ' 


HAVE  you  never  felt,  just  at  the  season  of  mid-March, 
the  force  and  truth  of  the  ensuing  observations  ?  Our 
only  wonder  is,  that  another  should  have  expressed  so  per 
fectly  our  own  thoughts  and  emotions,  a  hundred  times 
awakened  and  experienced,  in  the  early  'spring-time  of 
the  year  : '  '  There  is  a  certain  melancholy  in  the  evenings 
of  early  spring,  which  is  among  those  influences  of  nature 
the  most  universally  recognized,  the  most  difficult  to  ex 
plain.  The  silent  stir  of  reviving  life,  which  does  not  yet 
betray  signs  in  the  bud  and  blossom ;  only  in  a  softer 
clearness  in  the  air,  a  more  lingering  pause  in  the  slowly 
lengthening  day ;  a  more  delicate  freshness  and  bairn  in 
the  twilight  atmosphere ;  a  more  lovely  yet  still  unquiet 
note  from  the  birds,  settling  down  into  their  coverts;  the 
vague  sense  under  all  that  hush,  which  still  outwardly 
wears  the  bleak  sterility  of  winter  —  of  the  busy  change 


A    LOCOMOTIVE    A  x  T  A  G-O  x  i  s  T  .         267 

hourly,  momently  at  work  —  renewing  the  youth  of  the 
world,  re-clothing  with  vigorous  bloom  the  skeletons  of 
things ;  all  these  messages  from  the  heart  of  Nature  to 
the  heart  of  Man  may  well  affect  and  move  us.  But  why 
with  melancholy  ?  Xo  thought  on  our  part  connects  and 
construes  the  low,  gentle  voices.  It  is  not  Thought  that 
replies  and  reasons  :  it  is  Feeling  that  hears  and  dreams. 
Examine  not,  O  child  of  man  !  —  examine  not  that  myste 
rious  melancholy  with  the  hard  eyes  of  thy  reason  :  thou 
canst  not  impale  it  on  the  spikes  of  thy  thorny  logic,  nor 
describe  its  enchanted  circle  by  problems  conned  from  thy 
schools.  Borderer  thyself  of  two  worlds  —  the  Dead  and 
the  Living  —  give  thine  ear  to  the  tones,  bow  thy  soul  to 
the  shadows,  that  steal,  in  the  season  of  change,  from  the 
dim  Border  Land  ! ' 


'  XOT  long  since,'  writes  an  old  friend  and  correspond 
ent,  '  as  I  was  returning  from  Buffalo,  I  was  amused, 
while  the  cars  made  a  momentary  stop,  at  a  demonstra 
tion  made  by  a  crazy  man,  on  his  way  to  the  State  Luna 
tic  Asylum,  at  Utica.  He  was  standing  on  the  track,  in 
front  of  the  '  iron- horse  : '  '  You  think  you  are  something!' 
he  said,  looking  wildly  at  the  locomotive,  and  assuming 
a  boxing  attitude  ;  ;  but  look  o'  here  :  I  can  whip  you  ! 
I  Ve  flogged  the  fiery  bulls  of  Bashan,  and  broken  their 


268  A    '  MISTY'    PUN. 

horns  off !     Say  !  —  do  n't  you  stand  there,  whistling  and 
smoking,  like  a  blackguard  in  a  bar-room  :  jest  jump  to 

me,  and  I'll  take  the  conceit  out  of  you,  you  d d  old 

cooking-stove  on  wheels  /' 


ELLIOTT,  the  eminent  portrait-painter,  '  laid  himself 
out'  on  a  pun  the  other  morning,  as  he  was  walking  down 
town  with  a  friend,  in  a  faintly-drizzling  mist,  so  fine  as 
scarcely  to  be  perceptible  to  the  naked  eye  :  *  If  it  should 
stop  altogether,'  said  'CHARLIE,'  'it  would  n't  be  missed /' 
This  has  been  carefully  kept  from  the  daily  journals,  and 
'  now  first  appears  in  print.'  P.  S.  Mr.  ELLIOTT  has  re 
covered,  and  may  still  be  found  at  his  rooms,  '  first  floor 
from  the  roof  of  the  Art-Union  Building,  where  may  also 
be  seen  numerous  new  pictures  from  his  industrious  and 
facile  pencil ;  each  one  informed  with  that  perfectly  life 
like  individuality  of  expression,  whether  in  color,  linea 
ment,  position,  or  drapery,  which  will  render  his  portraits 
as  lastin^  as  the  canvas  upon  which  they  are  painted. 


WE  heard  to-day  a  laughable  '  Anecdote  of  a  Man 
with  a  big  Foot."1  He  was  a  Buffalonian,  who  must  be 
living  now,  for  a  man  with  so  good  a  hold  upon  the 
ground  is  not  likely  to  'drop  off'  in  a  hurry.  He  stepped 


CRISPIN    NOXP-LUSSED.  269 

one  day  into  the  small  shop  of  a  boot-maker's  in  the 
flourishing  capital  of  old  Erie,  and  asked  CRISPIN  if  he 
could  make  him  a  pair  of  boots.  Looking  at  his  long 
splay  pedal  extremities,  and  then  glancing  at  a  huge  un 
cut  cow-hide  that  hung  upon  the  wall,  he  said,  '  Well, 
yes,  I  guess  so.'  '  What  time  will  you  have  them  done  ? 
To-day  is  Monday.'  '  Well,  it  '11  depend  on  circum 
stances  ;  I  guess  I  can  have  'em  done  for  you  by  Satur 
day.'  On  Saturday,  therefore,  the  man  called  for  his 
boots  :  '  Have  you  got  'em  done  ? '  said  he,  as  he  entered 
the  little  shop.  '  Xo,  I  have  n't  —  I  could  n't;  it  has 
rained  every  day  since  I  took  your  measure.'  '  Rained  !' 
exclaimed  the  astonished  patron  ;  4  well,  what  of  that  ? 
What  had  that  to  do  with  it  P  '  What  had  THAT  to  do 
with  it  ? '  echoed  CRISPIN  ;  '  it  had  a  good  deal  to  do  with 
it.  When  I  make  your  boots  I've  got  to  do  it  out  doors, 
for  I  have  n't  room  in  my  shop,  and  I  can't  work  out 
doors  in  rainy  weather  ! '  It  was  the  same  man  of  'laro-e 

^  O 

understanding'  whom  the  porters  used  to  bother  so,  when 
he  lauded  from  a  steamer.  They  would  rush  up  to  him, 
seize  hold  of  his  feet,  saying,  '  Where  shall  I  take  your 
baggage,  Sir  ?  Where  's  this  trunk  to  go,  Sir  ?' 


WE  shall  not  be  so  indiscreet  as  to  name  the  popular 
clergyman   against  whom   a   correspondent  inveighs   bit- 


270  A    ^PATCHED-UP'     SERMON. 

terly,  in  that,  '  having  heard  great  things  of  him,  lie  went 
to  hear  him,  and  carne  away  disappointed.'  The  sub 
joined  lines  are  quoted  at  the  conclusion  of  our  corre 
spondent's  commentary,  as  '  expressing  exactly  what  the 
writer  desired  to  describe.'  If  the  limning  be  faithful,  the 
divine  must  have  won  the  suffrages  of  those  who  affect 
'  interesting  preachers  :' 

'  0  YE  ruling  Powers 
Of  Poesy  sublime,  give  me  to  sing 
The  splendors  of  that  sermon !    The  bold  a-hem, 
The  look  sublime,  that  beamed  with  confidence, 
The  three  wipes  with  the  cambric  handkerchief; 
The  strut  —  the  bob  —  and  the  impressive  thump 
Upon  the  HOLY  BOOK  ! 

'No  notes  were  there: 
No,  not  a  scrap.     All  was  intuitive, 
Pouring  like  water  from  a  flashing  fountain, 
With  current  unexhausted.    Now  the  lips 
Protruded,  and  the  eye-brows  lowered  amain, 
Like  KEAN'S  in  dark  OTHELLO. 

'  But  let  us  hear 

Somewhat  of  this  same  grand  and  flowery  sermon. 
Aha  !  there  comes  the  rub  !    T  was  made  of  scraps  ! 
Sketches  from  Nature ;  from  old  JOHNSON  some, 
And  some  from  JOSEPH  ADDISON  and  GOLDSMITH  ; 
BLAIR,  WILLIAM  SIIAKSPERE,  YOUNG'S  Night  Thoughts,  The  Grave ; 
GiLLESi'iE  on  the  Seasons;  even  the  plain 
Bold  energy  of  ANDREW  THOMPSON  here 
Was  pressed  into  the  jumble.     Plan  or  system 
Had  it  none  :  no  gleam  of  mind  or  aim  : 
4  A  thing  of  shreds  and  patches  ! '    Yet  the  blare 
Went  on  for  twenty  minutes,  haply  more.' 


A    PROTESTED    REFERENCE.  271 


THE  subjoined  anecdote  of  a  demagogue-candidate  for 
the  Legislature  of  a  western  State,  a  man  of  low  moral 
stature,  has  been  sent  us  by  a  new  correspondent :  '  There 

was  a  'stump-speaking,'  and  ABNER  G.  D had  the 

platform,  enlightening  '  the  unterrified '  long  and  loudly. 
;  Fellow-citizens,'  said  he,  '  I  now  come  to  a  slanderous 
rumor  which  has  been  most  dastardly  circulated  against 
me  from  one  end  of  the  countv  to  the  other.  My  enemies, 
not  content  with  endeavoring  to  ruin  my  political  prospects, 
have  assassin-like  attempted  to  blast  my  good  name  by 
their  insidious  reports.'  *  ABNER  '  then  stated  what  the 
rumor  was,  and  continued  :  '  I  rejoice,  fellow-citizens,  to 
have  it  in  my  power  instantly  to  fasten  the  lie  upon  this 
malicious  and  atrocious  slander.  I  see  amon^  vou  one  of 

O    * 

the  most  estimable  citizens  of  this  county,  whose  character 
for  truth  and  integrity  is  above  all  question.  Squire 
SCHOOLER,  to  whom  I  allude,  is  acquainted  with  all  the 
facts,  and  I  call  on  him  here  to  state  whether  this  rumor 
is  true  or  false.  I  pause  for  a  reply.'  Whereupon  Squire 
SCHOOLER  slowly  arose,  and  in  his  strong,  slow,  and  sono 
rous  voice  said:  'I  rather  think  you  did  it,  ABNER!' 
*  You  old  scoundrel  ! '  exclaimed  ABNER,  '  why  do  you 
interrupt  me,  while  I  am  discussing  great  constitutional 
questions,  with  your  low  personalities  ? '  And  he  accom 
panied  this  objurgatory  exclamation  with  such  a  'surge'  of 


272     YANKEE    'CUTENESS    IN    WALL-ST. 

gesticulation,  that  he  stepped  back  beyond  the  platform, 
fell  backward  on  a  big  dog,  amid  the  howls  of  which,  and 
the  deafening  roars  of  the  '  sovereigns,'  the  meeting  was 
effectually  broken  up. 


k  IF  you  wish  to  hear  a  little  specimen  of  Yankee  'cute- 
ness,  just  listen  to  this  colloquy,  which  we  heard  the  other 
day  in  the  counting-house  of  a  mercantile  friend  :  'A  man 
kind  o'  picks  up  a  good  many  idees  abeout.  I  larnt  a 
few  in  Wall-street.'  '  In  Wall-street  ? '  «  Yes  ;  'see,  I 
studied  it  eout  while  I  was  stage-drivin'.  I  got  a  little 
change  together ;  did  n't  know  where  to  place  it ;  could 
n't  hire  it  eout  hum,  'cause  I  was  pleadin'  poverty  all  the 
time ;  that,  'see,  would  n't  deu  :  so  I  goes  cleown  and 
claps  it  in  the  Dry  Dock  Bank ;  got  five  per  cent,  tew. 
Had  a  brother  thair  who  was  teller.  One  day  I  'gin  a 
check  for  fifty  dollars  :  all  right.  At  last  the  bank  got  in 
trouble  :  I  had  some  four  or  five  thousand  dollars  :  I  goes 
to  my  brother  and  draws  eout  my  money :  he  pays  me  in 

Bank  of notes.     Well,  I  took  'em  hum,  but  they 

forgot  to  take  eout  my  check  of  fifty  dollars.  So  I  goesy 
and  sez  I,  '  I  owe  you  fifty  that  you  haint  charged  me  ; 
will  you  take  your  own  notes  ?'  '  Sartin,'  sez  they  ;  so  I 
pays  'em  in  notes  that  I  bought  at  twenty-five  off.  '  That 's 
a  good  spec,'  sez  I ;  so  I  goes  areond  and  buys  up  abeout 


YANKEE    'CuTEXESs    IN    WALL-ST.     273 

tew  hundred  Dry  Dock  notes.  When  I  got  to  the  city  I 
could  n't  pass  'em  off.  I  tried  a  good  many  banks  —  no 
go.  At  last  they  creowded  me  off  the  pavement  in  Wall- 
street,  the  creowd  was  so  big,  and  I  stood  in  the  middle 
of  the  street,  and  caTlated.  I  Ve  got  the  idea,'  sez  I ; 
'  I  '11  come  country  over  'em.'  So  I  walked  into  the 

Bank  of ,  took  off  my  hat,  and  looked  areound  as 

if  did  n't  know  what  I  was  abeout.  I  knowd  the  cashier; 
so  he  comes  up  :  '  SAM  !'  sez  he,  '  what  neow  ?  —  ho\v  's 
the  family  ? '  «  All  well,'  sez  I ;  '  but  what  's  the  matter 
with  your  banks  ?  I  do  n't  know  who  to  depend  on. 
Here  's  your  neighbor,  the  Dry  Dock  's  gone,  and  may-be 
you  'II  go  next;  and  I've  got  abeout  five  thousand  dollars 
of  your  money ;  and  I  guess  I  '11  come  deown  and  draw 
the  specie.'  I  expect  I  must  a-looked  as  if  I  was  frightened 
to  death  ;  for  he  said  to-once,  '  Deont  do  that,  SAM  ! '  sez 
he  ;  '  you  '11  frighten  the  hull  country,  and  they  '11  come 
and  run  us.'  '  Can't  help  it,'  sez  I :  '  Here  's  abeout  tew 
hundred  dollars  of  the  Dry  Dock,  and  if  I  do  n't  get  the 
money  someiohere  before  I  go  hum,  I  '11  draw  on  you 
seoon.'  '  Heow  much  ?'  sez  he.  *  Abeout  tew  hundred.' 
4  We  '11  take  it,  SAM,'  sez  he,  '  and  you  keep  our  paper.' 
*  Well,'  sez  I,  'on  that  condition  I  ?11  keep  still.'  I  guess 
I  made  my  twenty-five  per  cent,  eout  of  Wall-street  that 
time,  *  if  I  am  Dutch,'  as  the  sayin'  is  ! '  There  is  not  a 
great  deal  of  honest  financiering  done  in  Wall-street  that 
12* 


274         A    MODERN    SACRED    PORTRAIT. 

is  more  shrewdly  performed  than  was  this  '  fair  business 
transaction.' 


'  I  WAS  walking  through  Trafalgar-Square  in  London, 
one  morning,'  said  a  travelled  friend  to  us  the  other  day, 
'  when  I  was  accosted  by  a  man  who  was  selling  an  en 
graved  picture  of  Christ  Examining  the  Tribute- Money. 
He  urged  me  so  piteously  to  purchase  one,  that  I  was 
tempted  to  do  so.  I  wish  I  had  it  now  to  show  you. 
Our  SAVIOUR  was  dressed  in  as  natty  a  swallow-tailed 
coat  as  you  ever  saw  in  a  tailor's  report  of  the  fashions  ; 
his  pantaloons  were  strapped  down  over  a  pair  of  exquisite 
little  boots,  and  he  wore  on  his  head  a  small  low  bell- 
crowned  hat,  much  in  fashion  about  that  time.  His 
apostles  were  dressed  in  the  same  fashion  ;  only  that  it 
was  evidently  intended  that  the  principal  figure  should  in 
this  respect  quite  exceed  them.  I  thought  of  the  value  of 
*  keeping '  in  art,  as  I  looked  at  that  scriptural  picture,  and 
the  text  which  it  was  supposed  to  illustrate ;  and,  sacred 
as  was  the  subject,  I  could  not  help  guffawing  obstreper 
ously  in  the  crowded  square.' 


WE  have  not  encountered  any  thing  better  than  the 
following  vindication  of  a  friend  by  a  western  editor,  since 
the  eulogy  pronounced  upon  Mr.  THOMAS  HIGGINS  and 


A    DUBIOUS    EULOGY.  275 

General  WASHINGTON  by  a  member  of  the  legislature  of 
Florida.  The  friend  in  question  had  been  arrested  for 
stealing  sheep  :  '  We  have  known  Mr.  THOMAS  for  twelve 
years.  Our  acquaintance  commenced  with  the  great  storm 
which  blew  down  our  grandfather's  barn.  At  that  time 
he  was  a  young  man  in  the  prime  of  life,  and  we  think 
raised  the  best  marrow-fat  peas  we  ever  eat.  He  was  a 
good  mathematician,  kind  to  the  poor,  and  troubled  with 
fits.  In  all  the  relations  of  a  husband,  father,  uncle,  and 
trustee  of  common  lands,  he  has  followed  the  direct  stand 
ard  of  duty.  Mr.  THOMAS  is  at  this  time  forty-three  years 
of  age,  slightly  marked  with  the  small-pox,  an  estimable 
citizen,  a  church-member,  and  a  man  of  known  integrity, 
for  ten  years.  As  to  sheep-stealing,  that  he  would  have 
done  it  if  he  could  get  an  opportunity,  is  without  founda 
tion  in  point  of  fact.  Mr.  THOMAS  could  have  stolen  our 
lead-pencil  several  times,  but  he  did  n't  do  it.' 


FIFTEEN  years  ago  we  placed  upon  record  the  follow 
ing  vaticination,  in  a  review  of  PARKER'S  Travels  to  the 
Rocky  Mountains : 

*  No  insurmountable  barriers  exist  to  the  construction 
of  a  rail-road  from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific.  No 
greater  elevations  would  need  to  be  overcome  than  have 
been  surmounted  on  the  Portage  and  Ohio  rail-road.  And 


276          'OLD    KNICK.'S'    PREDICTION. 

the  work  will  be  accomplished.  Let  this  prediction  be 
marked.  This  great  chain  of  communication  will  be  made 
with  links  of  iron.  The  treasures  of  the  earth,  in  that  wide 
region,  are  not  destined  to  be  lost.  The  mountains  of 
coal,  the  vast  meadow-seas,  the  fields  of  salt,  the  mighty 
forests,  with  their  trees  two  hundred  and  fifty  feet  in. 
height,  the  stores  of  magnesia,  the  crystallized  lakes  of  val 
uable  salts,  these  were  not  formed  to  be  unemployed  and 
wasted.  The  reader  is  now  living,  who  will  make  a  rail 
road  trip  across  this  vast  continent.  The  granite  moun 
tain  will  melt  before  the  hand  of  enterprise;  valleys  will 
be  raised,  and  the  unwearying  fire-steed  will  spout  his  hot 
white  breath,  where  silence  has  reigned  since  the  morning 
hymn  of  young  creation  was  pealed  over  mountain  flood 
and  field.  The  mammoth's  bone,  and  the  bison's  horn, 
buried  for  centuries,  and  long  since  turned  to  stone,  will  be 
bared  to  the  day  by  the  laborers  of  the  Atlantic  and  Pacific 
Eail-road  Company :  rocks  which  stand  now  as  on  the 
night  when  Noah's  deluge  first  dried,  will  heave  beneath, 
the  action  of  'villanous  saltpetre;'  and  where  the  prairie 
stretches  away,  'like  the  round  ocean,  girdled  with  the 
sky,7  with  its  wood-fringed  streams,  its  flower-enamelled 
turf,  and  its  herds  of  startled  buffaloes,  shall  sweep  the 
long  hissing  train  of  cars,  crowded  with  passengers  for  the 
Pacific  sea-board.  The  very  realms  of  chaos  and  old 
night  will  be  invaded ;  while  in,  place  of  the  swarm  of 


SWEARING    l  i  x    NAME.'  277 

wild  beasts,  or  howl  of  wilder  Indians,  will  be  heard  the 
lowing  of  herds,  the  bleating  of  flocks ;  the  plough  will 
cleave  the  sods  of  many  a  rich  valley  and  fruitful  hill, 
while  '  from  many  a  dark  bosom  shall  go  up  the  pure 
prayer  to  the  GREAT  SPIRIT.' 


SOMEBODY  (Captain  DONOWHO,  if  we  must  give 
names)  mentions  an  old  saw-miller  in  Maine,  whose  pro 
fane  ob-structure  of  the  stream  which  'carried'  his  mill 
was  itself  carried  away  by  a  sudden  freshet.  The  mill 
was  old ;  the  machinery  in  its  decadence  ;  the  whole  es 
tablishment  '  tottering  to  its  fall.'  The  owner  was  regard- 

O 

ing  the  'flood-wood'  of  his  fortunes  with  a  sad  and  wist 
ful  eye,  when  a  friendly  by-stander  consolingly  said  to 
him  :  '  Build  another  :  't  wont  take  you  three  weeks  to  do 
it.'  '  Ah,'  said  the  ci-devant  miller,  looking  at  the  old  na 
ked  edifice,  which  had  no  more  'back-water'  for  a  back 
ground,  lit  aint  worth  a  da?nf  Mentioning  this  the 
other  evening  to  a  friend,  he  said  it  reminded  hijn  of  a 
d  —  m  which  stopped  the  waters  of  a  river  between  the 
mountains  in  one  of  our  northern  States,  and  which,  by  a 
sudden  '  fresh,'  was  swept  away  during  the  night.  The 
owner  of  the  works  thereon  was  a  well-known  gentleman 
of  honor  and  intellect,  but  irritable,  notwithstanding,  and 
apt  at  times  to  give  vent  to  his  aroused  emotions.  The 


278     FUNERAL-TREES    OF    THE    INDIANS. 

neighbors,  as  usual,  gathered  around,  awaiting  the  arrival 
of  the  owner,  and  speculating  as  to  the  manner  and  lan 
guage  he  would  adopt,  under  the  strong  provocation  to 
his  '  pheelinks.'  He  soon  after  arrived,  and  probably  sus 
pecting,  from  movements  and  signs  about  him,  that  the 
assembly  was  waiting  for  an  out-break,  very  coolly 
surveyed  the  rushing  river,  and  the  sluice-way  it  had 
opened,  and  turning  to  the  people  with  a  bland  smile,  he 
said :  '  I  think,  neighbors,  you  will  all  agree  with  me  that 
this  liver  ought  to  be  dam  —  d  ! ' 


THE  voyager  up  the  Saint  MARY'S  river, .after  reach 
ing  a  distance  of  some  thirty  miles  from  the  Huron,  will 
begin  to  observe,  crowning  the  green  ridges  that  rise  am- 
phitheatrically  from  the  stream,  and  at  intervals  of  five  or 
seven  miles,  single  trees  of  great  height,  standing  like  ver 
dant  cones  above  the  general  level  of  the  unbroken  forest 
around  them.  The  aboriginal  tradition  is,  that  these  are 
the  funeral- trees  of  Indian  chiefs  who  have  been  buried 
beneath  them.  When  a  great  '  brave '  died  it  was  the 
custom  of  the  survivors  to  bend  or  '  sway '  to  the  ground  a 
tall  young  tree,  and  in  the  cavity  occupied  by  the  dis 
placed  roots  and  earth,  to  lay  the  body  of  the  dead  war 
rior,  and  then  release  the  tree,  to  spring  back  to  its  former 
position.  WHITTIER,  in  a  poem  several  years  since  in  the 


FUNERAL-TREES    OF    THE    INDIANS.     279 

KNICKERBOCKER,  described  a  similar  observance  in  the  in 
stance  of  a  Sokokis  chief,  on  the  banks  of  the  Sebago 
lake,  in  the  State  of  Maine  : 

4  "WITH  grave,  cold  looks,  all  sternly  mute, 
They  break  the  damp  turf  at  its  foot, 
And  bare  its  coiled  and  twisted  root. 

'  They  heave  the  stubborn  trunk  aside, 
The  firm  roots  from  the  earth  divide  — 
The  rent  beneath  yawns  dark  and  wide. 

'  And  there  the  fallen  chief  is  laid, 
In  tasselled  garb  of  skins  arrayed, 
And  girdled  with  his  wampum-braid. 

4  The  silver  cross  he  loved  is  pressed 
Beneath  the  heavy  arms,  which  rest 
Upon  his  scarred  and  naked  breast. 

'  'Tis  done  :  the  roots  are  backward  sent, 
The  beechen  tree  stands  up  unbent  — 
The  Indian's  fitting  monument ! 

'  "When  of  that  sleeper's  broken  race 
Their  green  and  pleasant  dwelling-place 
Which  knew  them  once,  retains  no  trace : 

'Oh  !  long  may  sunset's  light  be  shed 
As  now  upon  that  beech's  head  — 
A  green  memorial  of  the  dead ! 

'  There  shall  his  fitting  requiem  be, 
In  northern  winds,  that  cold  and  free 
Howl  nightly  in  that  funeral  tree. 


280     FUNERAL-TREES    OF    THE    INDIANS. 

'To  their  wild  wail  the  waves  which  break 
Forever  round  that  lonely  lake 
A  solemn  under-tone  shall  make ! 

'  And  who  shall  deem  the  spot  unblessed 
Where  Nature's  younger  children  rest. 
Lulled  on  their  sorrowing  mother's  breast  ? ' 

The  western  tradition,  when  related  to  us  on  board  the 
little  '  St.  Glair '  steamer,  while  she  was  struggling  up  the 
rapid  rushing  current  of  the  St.  MARY'S,  brought  instantly 
to  mind  the  foregoing  beautiful  lines ;  and  a  single  pencil- 
word,  just  seen  on  our  little  memoranda  of  some  of  the 
incidents  of  our  last  summer's  memorable  trip,  has  again 
brought  the  subject  out  from  a  back-shelf  of  Memory's 
*  catch-all.' 


NUMBER    THIRTEEN. 

TUB    INEBRIATE  —  A    WARNING  :     AX    ORNAMENT    TO      SOCIETY :    AXECDOTE     OF 
HOX.   THOMAS   COEWIX:    A    CHILD'S     LAST   '  GOOD-NIGHT ' :    A    RICH    RESTAU- 

KAXT  'CARTE':  FLUCTUATIOXS  ix   NATURE:  FOEE-EUXXERS  AXD  GHOSTS: 

A   •  DREADFUL   SCED'XE  '   IX   TERSE  :    THE   '  POOR  RICH   MAX  '  :    BURCHARD  OX 

TOBACCO:  THE  INFIDEL'S  'WORLD  TO  COME':  '  FOUR  TO  THE  POUND '  — 
STRICT  COXSTRUCTIOX :  NEW  BOTAXICAL  PLANTS :  A  RETORT  COURTEOUS  : 
A  POETICAL  QUANDARY:  AX  IMPROMPTU  'CROW-BAR'. 

WALKIXG  along  the  Battery,  on  our  return  this 
evening  from  a  delightful  trip  down  the  Lower  Bay,  in 
the  '  Orus"1  steamer,  we  beheld  a  young  man  whom  we  had 
known  many  years  since,  but  whom  we  had  not  seen  for 
many  months,  zig-zag-ing  along  the  middle  walk,  with  a 
friendly  supporter  hold  of  each  arm.  He  was  *  boozy,' 
he  was  '  swipsed,'  he  was  '  cut,'  he  was  *  tight,'  he  was 
'  cizzled,'  he  was  '  building,'  he  had  '  a  stone  in  his  hat,7 
he  was  '  intoxicated '  —  he  was  drunk  !  He  glanced  at 
us  with  an  unrecognizing,  lack-lustre  eye,  and  shambled 
on  —  his  two  friends  seemingly  ashamed  of  their  burthen  ; 
an  object  of  compassion  to  friends,  of  derision  to  foes ; 
scrutinized  by  strangers,  and  stared  at  by  fools.  O  !  that 
the  weak,  the  nervous,  who  '  feel  a  daily  longing  for  some 
artificial  aid  to  raise  their  spirits  in  society  to  the  ordi 
nary  pitch  of  all  around  them  without  it,'  could  have  seen 


282         THE    INEBRIATE  — A    WARNING. 

that  spectacle ;  could  have  seen  that  young  man  '  strug 
gling  with  the  billows  that  had  gone  over  him  ! '  Where 
were  his  pride,  his  self-respect,  his  love  of  the  world's 
esteem  ?  It  has  always  seemed  inexplicable  to  us,  that  a 
man  with  the  garb  and  feelings  of  a  gentleman,  conscious 
of  what  belonged  to  the  character,  should  go  on  from  day 
to  day  rivetting  the  chains  of  habit,  until  at  length  he 
finds  himself  going  down  a  precipice  with  open  eyes  and 
a  passive  will ;  seeing  his  destruction,  without  the  power 
to  stop  it,  yet  feeling  it  all  the  way  emanating  from  him 
self;  bearing  about  the  piteous  spectacle  of  his  own  self- 
ruin,  the  'body  of  death,  out  of  which  he  cries  with 
feebler  and  feebler  outcry  to  be  delivered  ; '  until  at  last, 
forgetful  of  all  self-respect,  he  falls  into  that  taste  for  low 
society  which  is  '  worse  than  pressing  to  death,  whipping, 
or  hanging,'  and  finally  falls  to  rise  no  more.  Wine,  pro 
perly  and  moderately  used,  is  '  a  good  familiar  creature,' 
but  '  every  inordinate  cup  is  unblessed,  and  the  ingredient 
is  a  devil;'  and  he  who  cannot  avoid,  or  finds  himself  in 
any  degree  approaching,  the  'inordinate  cup,'  should 
eschew  it  utterly  :  for  at  the  last  it  '  will  bite  like  a  ser 
pent  and  sting  like  an  adder  ! ' 


A  FRIEND  of  ours,  not  long  since  in  England,  relates  a 
characteristic  anecdote  of  CHARLES  LAMJB,  which  he  heard 


Ax     ORNAMENT    TO     SOCIETY.          283 

there,  and  which  we  think  worth  repeating  here.  At  a 
dinner  table  one  evening,  a  sea-faring  guest  was  describing 
a  terrific  naval  engagement,  of  which  he  was  a  spectator, 
on  board  a  British  man-of-war.  '  While  I  was  watching 
the  effects  of  the  galling  fire  upon  the  masts  and  rigging,' 
said  he,  '  there  came  a  cannon-ball,  which  took  oft*  both 
legs  from  a  poor  sailor  who  was  in  the  shrouds.  He  fell 
toward  the  deck,  but  at  that  moment  another  cannon-ball 
whizzed  over  us,  which,  strange  to  say,  took  off  both  his 
arms,  which  fell  upon  deck,  while  the  poor  fellow's  limb 
less  trunk  was  carried  overboard.'  'Heavens  !'  exclaimed 
LA^NIB;  '  did  n't  you  save  him  !'  '  Xo,'  replied  the  naval 
MUNCHAUSEX;  'he  could  n't  swim,  of  course,  and  he  sank 
before  assistance  could  be  rendered  him.'  '  It  was  a  sad, 
sad  loss!'  said  LAMB,  musingly;  'if  he  could  have  been 
picked  up,  what  an  ornament  to  society  he  might  have 
become ! ' 

WE  record  here  an  anecdote  of  Hon.  Secretary 
CORWIX,  because  it  admirably  illustrates  the  potency  of 
forms'  in  political  meetings,  and  the  absence  of  '  entoosy- 
mussyj  as  BYROX  would  term  it,  in  some  partizan  audi 
tories.  Mr.  CORWIX,  in  the  early  part  of  his  political 
career,  had  been  addressing  some  ten  or  twelve  thousand 
of  his  matter-of-fact  fellow  citizens,  at  a  place  called  'Xew- 
England  Settlement,'  in  the  Western  Reserve.  He  never 


284          ANECDOTE    OF    MR.     COR  WIN. 

made  a  better  speech,  nor  uttered  one  more  impressively, 
in  his  life  ;  but  it  was  not  interrupted  during  its  delivery 
by  a  single  encouraging  word  or  gesture :  and  when  it 
was  finished,  an  awful  pause  ensued  ;  until  a  tall  thin 
Yankee,  on  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd,  rose  and  said,  in  a 
thin  drawling  voice  :  '  Mr.  Chairman,  I  move  that,  in  con 
sideration  of  the  spirited  and  patriotic  speech  of  Mr.  COR- 
WINE,  this  meeting  give  him  three  cheers!'  Another 
awful  pause  followed  ;  W7hen  a  little  man  jumped  up  on 
the  other  side  of  the  crowd,  and  jerked  out :  'I  second  that 
motion  !'  The  chairman  rose  with  great  deliberation  and 
dignity  :  '  Gentlemen,'  said  he,  '  you  have  heard  the  reso 
lution  :  it  is  moved  and  seconded,  that  in  consideration  of 
the  spirited  and  patriotic  speech  which  we  have  heard 
from  Mr.  COR-WINE,  this  meeting  proceed  to  give  him 
three  cheers!'  An  irregular  ' Hoorah  /'  was  returned,  and 
then  all  was  silence.  The  chairman  rose  again  :  '  The 
resolution,  it  should  not  be  forgotten,'  said  he,  '  contem 
plated  three  cheers  ;  you  will  therefore  now  proceed  to 
give  a  second  cheer ; '  and  a  second  '  cheer,'  such  as  it  was, 
was  given  ;  and  a  third  followed,  with  the  same  forms ; 
and  the  '  large  and  enthusiastic  meeting'  dispersed. 


IF  you  are  a  mother  or  a  father,  reader,  and  hear 
nightly  from  rosy,  innocent  lips  the  prayer  of  childhood 


A     CHILD'S    LAST    'Gooo-NiGHT.'        285 

mentioned  in  the  following  account  of  the  death  of  a  mis 
sionary's  little  girl,  you  will  feel  in  your  'heart  of  hearts' 
the  touching  pathos  which  it  embodies.  It  is  an  extract 
from  a  letter  of  Rev.  Mr.  LAWRENCE,  at  Dindigul,  in 
India,  announcing  the  death  of  a  lovely  child,  between 
three  and  four  years  of  age :  k  Dear  LOUISA  went  as 
calmly  to  her  last  repose  as  the  shutting  up  of  a  flower  at 
twilight.  As  her  sight  began  to  fail,  though  about  four 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  she  said  to  me,  '  Good  night, 
father]  her  usual  words  on  going  to  sleep,  and  then  went 
on  to  repeat : 

'  Xow  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep, 
I  pray  the  LORD  rny  soul  to  kee  —  eo  —  p ; 
A  —  a  —  men  ! ' 

'And  so  she  left  us  to  weep  and  rejoice,  and  now  to 
long  almost  for  a  reunion :  not  here  ;  oh,  no,  not  here  ! 
Sweet,  blessed  child  !  a  more  fitting  prayer  thou  couldst 
not  have  offered,  had  thy  lips  been  then,  as  now,  the  lips 
of  an  angel !  Thou  wert  indeed  lying  down  to  sleep,  and 
sweet  shall  be  thy  rest,  for  the  LORD  will  keep  thee :  thou 
shalt  sleep  on  His  breast  and  wake  in  His  aims.  She 
did  not  live  to  say, 

•  IF  I  should  die  before  I  wake, 
I  pray  the  LORD  my  soul  to  take  ! ' 

but  the  LORD  took  her  in  the  midst  of  her  evening  prayer, 


286         A    RICH    RESTAURANT    'CARTE.' 

when  she  mistook  the  darkness  of  death  gathering  over 
her  for  the  shades  of  evening,  and  bidding  her  friends 
'  Good  night,'  calmly  committed  her  sweet  spirit  to  her 
heavenly  FATHER'S  care.' 


WE  were  not  a  little  amused  the  other  day,  on  sitting 
down  with  a  friend  at  a  '  foreign-kept '  cafe,  not  a  thou 
sand  miles  from  Broadway,  at  finding  on  our  plate  the  an 
nexed  bill  of  fare.  Some  wag  had  obtained  possession  of 
one  of  its  blank  bill-heads,  and  by  way  of  a  parody  upon 
the  frequent  errors  committed  at  that  restaurant  in  trans 
ferring  French  edibles  to  English,  as  well  as  by  way  of 
satire  upon  the  'entertainment'  sometimes  to  be  met  with 
there,  had  substituted  the  following  for  the  regular  '  carte  ' 

O  O 

of  Ihe  day  : 

LIST    OF    VICTUALS 

AND   THINGS   LYING   UNCOOKED    AND    COOKED    AT   THIS   CAFE-HOUSE. 

8.  d, 

Soup-Maigre,  (four  pails  water  to  turnip  and  ingen,)    2        6 

Soups  from  different  theatres, 3 

Fishes  (assorted  sizes)  biled,  2        6 

Fishes' Balls,  , 2 

Exposed  Frogs  —  naked,  3 

"  "          dressed,  4 

Fillet  de  Bceuf,  Campanalogian  sauce,  1        6 

Line  of  an  01  e  Bull,   2 

Round  of  Beef,  1 


FLUCTUATIONS    IN    NATURE.  287 

Flat  of  Beef; j 

Calve's  Head,  2        6 

Host  Matting,  Pico  sauce,  2        6 

Spring  Chickin, 6        6 

Summer      do.,   5 

Autumn      do.,   10 

Winter    do.,  (hard  to  keep,) 12 

Hay  and  Straw  Berries,  1 

Extra  Bread,     3 

Extra  Herald,   2 

Eoot-beer,  on  draft,  p'ts., 6 

Pot  o1  Stout,  (Pot  de  Eobuste,) 8 

Lobsters  in  the  chell, 2        6 

Oystees,  ror  or  scalded, 1 

"      •without  opening,   2        6 

Bifstek  de  Mutting,  2 

Matting  Chaps. 1        6 

Stewed  Heels,   2        6 

Swa«hingers, j 

Cabidg.  (ad  lib.,) 7 

Indian  Pudding,  (made  by  OSCEOLA,  rare,)    5 

Considering  the  juxtaposition  of  some  of  the  above 
articles,  and  the  syle  of  spelling,  we  have  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  Mr.  YELLOWPLUSH  must  be  travelling  in 

O 

cog.  in  this  '  wooden  country.* 


WE  took  a  short  '  sally-out'  this  morning  "cross  lots' 
toward  the  Hudson,  from  the  Bloomingdale  Road,  with  a 
protecting  umbrella  against  the  burning  rays  of  the  sun. 


288  FORE-RUNNERS      AND      Gr  HOSTS. 

How  hot  and  still  it  was  !    No  sound  came  from  the  land 
scape,  save  where  myriads  of 

'  PITTERING  grasshoppers,  confus'dly  shrill, 
Piped  giddily  along  the  glowing  hill.' 

Since  we  have  come  back,  a  cloud  which  was  no  big 
ger  than  a  man's  hand  when  we  reached  home,  has  proved 
to  be  pregnant  with  wind  and  rain,  of  which  there  has 
been  a  very  '  general  delivery  : '  and  now,  how  different 
is  the  air  !  We  have  been  thinking  of  what  CARLYLE 
says  somewhere  :  '  The  expression  of  the  fluctuations  and 
modifications  of  feeling  in  the  heart  of  the  heavens  is  made 
audible  and  visible  and  tangible  on  their  face  and  bosom. 
0  Heavens  !  what  have  I  not  felt  in  a  summer  shower  ! 
The  dry  world  all  at  once  made  dewy  ! ' 


'  Do   you    believe  in  fore-runners  ? '    asked  a  nervous 

lady   of  old  Deacon  J .      'Yes  Ma'am,'  replied  the 

Deacon  ;  '  I  've  seen  them  !'  'Bless  me  ! '  exclaimed  the 
lady  ;  '  do  tell ! '  '  Yes,'  continued  the  Deacon,  fixing  his 
eyes  with  a  solemn  stare  on  a  dark  corner  of  the  room  : 
'  /  see  one  now  /'  'Mercy!  mercy  on  me!'  shrieked  the 
lady  ;  '  where  ! '  '  There  !  there  ! '  said  the  Deacon,  point 
ing  to  where  his  eyes  were  directed.  '  That  cat,  Ma'am, 
may  be  called  a  fore-runner,  for  she  runs  on  all-fours  ! ' 
Speaking  of  apparitions  :  that  is  rather  a  forcible  argu 
ment  urged  against  the  theory  of  their  existence  by  one 


A    -DREADFUL    SCED'NE'    IN    VERSE.     289 

of  the  characters   in  'The   Grimsby  Ghost:'  'Ghosts  be 
hanged !     It  's  too   late  in   the  day  for  'era,  by  a  whole 
century :  they  're  quite  exploded  ;  went  out  with  the  old 
witches  :     Xo,  Sir  ;  workmen  may  rise  for  higher  wages  ; 
the  sun  may  rise,  and  bre:id  may  rise,  and  the  sea  may 
rise,  and   the  rising  generation   may  rise,  and  all  to  some 
°;ood    or    bad   purpose ;    but    that    the    dead  and  buried 
should  rise,  only  to  make  one's  hair  rise,  is  more  than   I 
can   credit.     What  should  they  rise  for  \     Some  say  they 
come  with  messaged  or   errands  to  the  living ;  but  they 
can't  deliver  'em  for  want  of  breath,  and  can't  execute  'em 
for  the  want  of  physical   force.     If  you   come   up   out   of 
your  grave  to  serve  a  friend,  how  are  you  to  help   him  i 
And  if  it  's  an  enemy,  what  's  the  use  of  appearing  to  him 
if  you  can't  pitch  into  him  V     To  which   an  interlocutor 
replies,  *  To  show  your  spirit,  of  course  ;?  and  he  goes  on 
to  declare  his  belief  in  ghosts;  for  he  was  *  knowing  to '  a 
case  of  the   kind,  where  a  figure-head  of  a  vessel   called 
the  Brittania  had  appeared  to  a  retired  sea-captain  in  Lon 
don,  on  the  very  night  that  she  found  a  watery  grave  off- 
Cape  Horn  ! ' 


my  nab'rin  peepil  waiite 
Whid'le  I  a  d'n-dreauful  sced'ne  relate, 
Of  wod'n  bright  youth  as  e'er  you  see, 
Was  kid'l'd  id'n  Hartford  by  a  tree. 

Id'n  Hartford  by  a  tree  ! ' 

13 


290     A    'DREADFUL    SCED'NE'    IN    VERSE. 

Now  when  we  heard  this  affecting  stanza  suddenly  sung, 
during  a  slight  pause  in  the  conversation,  etc.,  of  a  pleas 
ant  evening  party  at  B ,  we  pricked  up  our  ears  for 

the  'full  and  particular  account'  of  the  '  dreadful  sced'ne,' 

so  pathetically  alluded   to.     S ,  with  befitting  nasal 

twang,  and  '  linked  sweetness  long  drawn  out,'  went  on  : 

'  Od'ne  ISAAC  ABBOTT  was  his  nab'rne, 
"Who  late-ly  id'nto  Hartford  came ; 
Residin'  with  his  brother  JAB'MES, 
Od'ne  day  at  nood'n  went,  as  it  seems, 
At  nood'n  went,  as  it  seems. 

'  To  cut  sob'me  timber  for  a  sled ; 
The  snow  bein'  deep,  he  had  to  wade 
Near  forty  rods  to  ad'n  ash -tree  ; 
The  top  was  dry,  as  you  shall  see  — 
Was  dry,  as  you  shall  see. 

'  He  cut  it  off  all  frob'm  the  stub'mp, 
The  top  bein'  dry,  threw  back  a  chunk, 
Which  flew  ad'nd  hit-tim  on  his  head, 
Ad'nd  crush'd  hib'm,  yet  he  was  not  dead  — 
Ilib'm,  yet  he  was  not  dead. 

'  There  the  poor  sufrer  sed'nseless  lay 
Ad'l  the  remaid'nder  of  that  day, 
'Till  Deacon  JAB'MES  ad'nd  his  sod'n, 
Alarb'm'd.  set  out  upon  a  rud'n, 
Set  out  upon  a  rud'n. 

'They  sood'n  behed'ld  him  with  surprise, 
Ad'nd  gaz'd  od'n  hib'm  with  steadfast  eyes; 


THE    -Poon     RICH     MAN.'  291 

They  took  hib'm  up  ad'nd  bore  hib'm  hob'me, 
Put  hib'm  to  bed  id'n  a  warb'm  roob'm, 
To  bed  id'n  a  warb'm  roob'm. 

1  His  fried'uds  ad'nd  na'bers  gather'd  round, 
The  sermon  preached  by  Ed'lder  BROWD'X  : 
His  corpse  with  care  were  bord'ne  away, 
To  biggie  with  its  dative  clay, 

'Gle  with  its  dative  clay ! ' 


4  THERE  are  some  people,'  says  a  modern  author  who 
has  a  keen  eye  for  the  weaknesses  and  absurdities  of  '  the 
world,'  *  there  are  some  people,  who  have  no  reverence  ex 
cept  for  prosperity,  and  no  eye  for  any  thing  beyond  suc 
cess.'  These  are  the  men  who  fasten  on  to  rich  folks  so 
naturally,  and  whom  the  richer  folks  than  themselves,  for 
that  very  reason,  always  despise.  These  are  the  men  who, 
when  told  that  the  young  man  next  them  at  dinner,  or 
whom  they  encounter  at  their  club,  has  recently  become 
the  heir  of  half  a  million,  regard  him  with  an  'interest' 
that  he  sees  through  with  half  an  eye,  and  speaks  of  else 
where  with  an  appropriate  sneer.  These  men,  who  know 
their  own  fortuitous  gains  to  be  vastly  overrated ;  whose 
affections  rush  out  to  meet  and  welcome  money ;  whose 
sentiments  awaken  spontaneously  toward  the  interesting- 
possessors  of  it ;  these  men  do  n't  consider  themselves  at 
liberty  to  indulge  in  friendship  for  any  individual  who  is 


292  BURCHARD      ON      ToBACCO. 

not  richer  than  themselves  ;  in  consequence  of  which,  it  is 
difficult  to  say  whether  they  are  most  despised  by  those 
who  are  above  or  those  who  are  below  them  in  a  pecu 
niary  point  of  view;  while  the  irrepressible  self-conscious 
ness  that  they  are  mere  DOMBEYS  makes  them  even  more 
distasteful  to  themselves  than  to  others.  These  are  the 
' poor  rich  men"1  whom  Miss  SEDGWICK  has  so  well  de 
scribed. 


A  CASUAL  correspondent  in  Watertovvn,  (jST.  Y.,)  sends 
us  the  following  extract  from  a  temperance-lecture  by 
BURCHARD,  the  eccentric  '  revivalist,'  lately  delivered  in 
that  villao'e.  We  mentioned  in  a  recent  anecdote  the 

G 

manner  in  which  the  speaker  once  obtained  a  quid  of  to 
bacco  in  church  ;  and  it  seems  but  fair  that  we  should  set 
forth  his  subsequent  trials  in  es- chewing  the  weed:  'I 
w7as  once,'  said  he,  '  an  inveterate  lover  of  tobacco,  and  I 
know' how  difficult  it  is  to  break  off  the  habit  of  using  it; 
still  it  can  be  done.  I  indulged  in  the  use  of  the  weed  to  a 
great  excess  ;  I  loved  it;  but  knowing  that  its -effects  were 
bad,  and  especially  ill-becoming  a  minister  of  the  gospel,. 
I  made  one  almighty  resolve  to  quit  it.  With  that  reso 
lution  I  took  a  tremendous  '  cud,'  which  was  to  be  my 
final  wind- off.  I  chewed  it  and  chewed  it,  and  '  rolled  it 
as  a  sweet  morsel  under  my  tongue,'  and  from  one  cheek 
to  the  other,  for  three  weeks.  'Pears  to  me  tobacco  never 


THE     I  N  FIDEL'S    -WORLD    TO     COME.'     293 

tasted  so  good  before  ;  and  I  almost  shed  tears  when  I 
recollected  that  it  was  to  be  my  last  indulgence.  When 
its  strength  was  all  gone,  I  threw  it  away :  '  There, 
BURCHARD,'  said  I,  '  there  goes  your  last  —  your  omega  of 
quids  !'  Well,  for  a  while  it  was  very  hard  doing  without 
it,  and  I  was  often  sorely  tempted  to  try  it  again.  Old 
tobacco-chewers  would  pull  out  their  rusty  steel-boxes, 
give  them  a  scientific  snap,  and  say,  '  BURCHARD,  have  a 
chew?'  —  and  for  a  long  time,  whenever  I  heard  the  click 
of  a  tobacco-box,  I  involuntarily  put  my  hand  in  my 
trowse's  to  get  hold  of  my  pig-tail.  In  fact  I  am  afraid  I 
sometimes  blundered  dreadfully  in  my  sermons,  my 
thoughts  being  move  perhaps  upon  tobacco  than  upon  the 
LORD.  But  I  stuck  to  my  resolution  ;  and  neither  *  caven 
dish  '  nor  'pig-tail'  has  ever  been  between  my  teeth  from 
that  dav  to  this  ! ' 


THE  article  entitled  '  Infidelity  in  New-York"1  magni 
fies,  we  must  hope  and  believe,  what  would  otherwise  in 
deed  be  a  '  dangerous  moral  enemy.'  Infidelity,  such  as 
our  correspondent  describes,  can  gain  few  adherents. 
What  is  substituted  for  what  is  disbelieved,  must  prevent 
any  great  extension  of  such  vague  and  wicked  assump 
tions.  '  Let  any  of  those  who  renounce  Christianity  write 
fairlv  down  in  a  book  all  the  absurdities  which  thev  be- 


2941  'FouR    TO    THE    POUND.' 

lieve  instead  of  it,  and  they  will  find  that  it  requires  more 
faith  to  reject  Christianity  than  to  embrace  it : 

'  IF  all  our  hopes  and  all  our  fears 

Were  prisoned  in  life's  narrow  bound ; 
If,  travellers  in  this  vale  of  tears, 

"We  saw  no  better  world  beyond; 
Oh  what  could  check  the  rising  sigh, 

What  earthly  thing  could  pleasure  give  ? 
Oh  who  would  venture  then  to  die  — 

Oh  who  would  venture  then  to  live  ?1 

If  men,  says  LAC  ox,  have  been  termed  pilgrims,  and 
life  a  journey,  then  we  may  add,  that  the  Christian  pil 
grimage  far  surpasses  all  others  in  the  following  important 
particulars :  in  the  goodness  of  the  road,  in  the  beauty  of 
the  prospects,  in  the  excellence  of  the  company,  and  in 
the  vast  superiority  of  the  accommodation  provided  for  the 
Christian  traveller  who  has  finished  his  course. 


TALK  about  the  '  progress  of  the  age,'  the  '  barbarism 
of  the  past,'  and  the  like  !  Where,  in  any  country,  save 
such  as  makes  its  own  laws  directly  through  the  people, 
could  an  occurrence  like  the  following  take  place  ?  A 
legal  friend  of  ours,  passing  recently  through  the  charm 
ing  village  of  Canandaigua,  was  struck  with  the  appear 
ance  of  an  oblong  frame  building  by  the  road-side,  a  little 
way  out  of  the  town,  open  by  gratings  on  all  sides,  and 


STRICT    CONSTRUCTION.  295 

presenting  the  appearance  of  an  ornamental  corn-bouse. 
He  was  attracted  toward  the  spot  by  repeated  calls  from 
the  interior  ;  and  on  reaching-  it,  what  was  bis  surprise  to 
find  the  place  occupied  by  four  respectable  citizens  of  the 
village  !  They  were  confined  in  the  town-pound,  hitherto 
a  sort  of  '  sponging-house'  for  animals  having  no  visible 
means  of  support,  and  indebted  for  past  '  keep '  to  the  cor 
poration  grounds.  They  were  sadly  in  want  of  food,  and 
their  beards  had  assumed  an  appearance  not  unlike  that 
of  the  gentleman's  who  staid  so  long  at  Jericho,  beyond 
the  termination  of  the  '  long  stage '  from  Dan  to  Beer- 
sheba.  On  inquiring  the  cause  of  their  incarceration,  our 
friend  was  informed  that  they  were  the  Trustees  of  the 
village  ;  that  they  had  been  confined  there  for  more  than 
a  week,  under  a  section  of  the  *  Laws  of  New- York,1  of 
1820  ;  and  that  at  the  end  of  four  days  they  were  to  be 
sold  into  bondage  !  One  of  the  unhappy  wretches  here 
thrust  through  the  grating  a  dirty,  crumpled  piece  of  pa 
per,  on  which  was  written  with  a  blunt  pencil  the  '  sec 
tion'  by  virtue  of  which  they  were  held  in  duress.  It  ran 
as  follows,  and  may  be  found  at  page  two  hundred  and 
forty-four  of  the  '  State  Laws  : ' 

'"WHEREAS  it  is  suggested  by  petitions  from  the  inhabitants  of  the  village 
of  Canar.daigua,  that  doubts  exist  upon  the  true  construction  of  the  third  sec 
tion  of  the  act  hereby  amended,  and  the  said  petitions  pray  for  a  declaratory 
law,  and  for  certain  amendments  in  the  said  act,  Therefore, 

•  BE  rr  EXACTED,  That  the  said  Trustees,  or  the  major  part  of  them,  as  often 


296  NEW    BOTANICAL    PLANTS. 

as  they  shall  make,  ordain  and  publish  any  by-laws  for  restraining  animals,  may 
he  seized  and  impounded,  and  after  reasonable  delay  may  l>e  sold  at  pub 
lic  vend ue,  to  pay  the  penalties  imposed  for  the  violation  of  any  such  ordinance, 
together  with  cost  and  charges.' 

Some  private  citizens,  aware  of  this  section  of  the  act, 
as  it  stands  even  now  on  the  statute-book,  and  actuated 
by  private  pique  against  the  trustees,  had  taken  the  law 
into  their  own  hands,  and  put  it  in  force  against  them. 
Its  '  plain  meaning  and  intent '  were  not  matters  to  be  con 
sidered.  There  stood  the  statute ;  they  followed  it  '  to  the 
etter  ; '  and  — here  stood  its  victims  !  It  was  a  hard  case, 
to  be  sure ;  but  then,  on  the  other  hand,  such  mistakes 
sometimes  result  in  favor  of  the  accused ;  as  in  an  in 
stance  reported  in  3  HARR.  Delaware  Reports;  where  a 
man  was  indicted  for  stealing  '  one  pair  of  boots.'  The 
theft  was  proved :  but  the  thief  was  acquitted,  the  evidence 
showing  that  the  boots  were  not  a  pair.  They  were  the 
'  better-halves '  of  two  pairs  of  '  rights-and -lefts  ; '  and  be 
ing  both  'rights,'  the  Judge  decided  that  it  was  '•all  right,' 
and  the  prisoner  left.  What  will  the  'monarchical  press' 
say  to  these  legal  abuses  of  the  model  republic  ? 


MR.  C ,  the  distinguished  agriculturist  of  Patter 
son,  New-Jersey,  was  remarking  recently  to  a  lady-friend 
of  his,  that  he  could  wish,  for  one,  that  the  Latin  terms 
used  in  agricultural  chemistry  and  botany  could  be  re- 


A    RETORT    COURTEOUS.  297 

duced  to  English,  so  that  their  meaning  might  be  more 
generally  understood  by  the  great  mass  of  farmers,  and 
pei-sons  fond  of  botany.  '  Well,'  observed  the  spinster, 
'  I  have  changed  all  the  Latin  names  in  my  herbarium  to 
English  ;  all  except  two,  and  I  could  n't  find  names  for 
them.'  '  What  were  they,  Madam  ? '  '  They  was  the 
*  Ory-Bory  AllisJ  and  the  '  Delirian  Triminsf 


1  Do  I  understand  the  counsel  for  defendant,'  asked  a 
very  far-western  judge,  'to  say,  that  he  is  about  to  read 
his  authorities,  as  against  the  decision  just  pronounced 
from  the  bench  ?'  'By  no  means!1  responded  the  coun 
sel  '  aforesaid.'  '  I  was  merely  going  to  show  to  your 
honor,  by  a  brief  passage  which  I  was  about  to  read  from 
the  book  which  I  hold  in  my  hand,  what  an  old  fool 
BLACKSTONE  must  have  been  ! '  '  Oh,  ay  ! '  said  the 
judge,  not  a  little  elated :  '  and  there  the  matter  ended.' 


LET  us  try  to  give  you  very  briefly,  reader,  a  little 
story  that  was  told  us  the  other  night  in  the  sanctum. 
We  will  endeavor  to  present  it  as  nearly  as  possible  in  the 
words  of  the  narrator :  '  Did  I  ever  tell  you,'  said  he, 
'  about  my  first  and  last  poetical  effort  ?  Reckon  not 
Well,  thus  it  was :  A  considerable  long  time  ago,  when  I 
13* 


298  A     POETICAL    QUANDARY. 

was  pursuing  the  law,  (hand  passibus  ceguisj)  and  which  J 
never  overtook,  I  was  sitting  with  my  feet  on  a  line  with 
my  nose,  •  my  custom  always  in  the  afternoon,'  when  at 
the  opened  door  a  veritable  client  appeared.  His  inimitable 
hitch  at  the  waist-band  spoke  at  once  his  occupation  on 
the  briny  deep.  '  Do  you  ever  write  letters  here  ? '  was 
his  first  question.  '  Sometimes,'  said  I,  '  although  I  am 
not  exactly  a  man  of  letters.'  '  Well,  then,'  said  he,  look 
ing  round  carefully  to  see  that  his  communication  was 
confidential,  'I  want  a  first-rate  one/  'To  whom,  and  or* 
what  subject  ? '  I  asked.  '  To  a  gal  in  Kittery,'  said  he. 
'  She  aint  acting  right,  and  I  want  to  tell  her  so.  She  's 
been  and  gone  to  a  singing-school  with  another  chap 
sence  I  left.  Now  take  a  sheet  of  paper  and  give  her  my 
mind  strong  ! '  T  did  my  best,  and  put  down  in  our  good 
vernacular  some  emphatic  expressions  of  indignation,  and 
some,  hard  knocks  against  the  interloper  of  the  singing- 
school.  '  Hold  there  !'  says  he,  'that  is  rather  too  much 
sail  on  that  tack!  Now  put  her  off  a  few  p'ints  on  an 
other  tack,  and  give  her  some  soft  biscuit,  for  I  do  n't 
want  to  break  off  entirely  •,  only  to  score  her,  so  that  she 
will  mind  her  helm  and  steer  straight.'  So  I  eased  off,  and 
put  in  some  '  soft  sawder '  and  love-sick  nonsense.  I  read 
it  to  him.  '  That  will  do,'  said  he  ;  '  but  tell  her,  after  all,, 
it  will  be  as  she  behaves  ! '  So  I  qualified  the  honey  with 
a  little  vinegar.  '  That 's  all  right,'  said  he  ;  '  but  I  want 


A    POETICAL     QUANDARY.  299 

you  to  put  in  some  verses,  to  wind  up  the  yarn.'     'Such 
as  what  I '  said  I.     *  This  : 

'MY  pen  is  poor,  my  ink  is  pale, 
My  love  for  you  shall  never  fail.' 

'  I  wrote  at  his  dictation  until  I  came  to  the  word 
'  pale.'  '  That  will  never  do,'  said  I,  '  for  this  ink  is  most 
particularly  black'—  and  it  was  '  black  as  Erebus,'  or  '  the 
ace  of  spades.'  This  was  a  poser.  lie  scratched  his  head 
in  most  amusing  perplexity.  'I  must  have  the  poetry,' 
said  he,  '  at  any  rate ;  and  what  if  it  aint  exactly  true  ? 
Will  that  hurt  it  ? '  '  Not  as  poetry,1  said  I,  refining,  l  but 
as  fact.  It  will  be  a  false  statement  of  a  matter  of  fact, 
and  the  falsehood  will  be  apparent  on  the  face  of  the  re 
cord,  and  falsus  in  uno,  falsus  in  omnibus,  you  know 
JACK  !  How  can  BETSEY  believe  a  word  you  say,  with 
such  a  black  falsehood  staring  her  in  the  face  \ '  (I  was 
young,  and  fresh  from  BLACKSTONE,  and  talked  learnedly.) 
4  What  shall  we  do  ? '  cried  JACK  ;  'you  must  fix  it  some 
how.'  '  How  will  this  answer,  JACK  ? '  I  asked  : 

'  MY  pen  is  poor,  my  ink  is  black, 
My  love  for  you  shall  never  slack ! ' 

'  First-rate ! '  exclaimed  JACK  ;  and  so  it  went,  and  so 
ended  my  first  and  last  attempt  at  poetry.  I  wish  I  had 
kept  a  copy  of  that  letter  ! ' 


300         AN    IMPROMPTU    '  C  E.O  w-B  AK,.' 


THE  'BACHELOR'  was  in  a 'reverie:'  'RALPH  SEA- 
WULF  '  was  silent :  '  RICHARD  HAYWAUDE  '  was  musing, 
and  '  Old  KNICK.'  was  drinking  in  the  exhilarating  air  of 
the  sweet  Spring  morning  —  ('  we  four,  and  no  more,'  were 
being  wheeled  to  Hunting-ton,  Long  Island,  over  a  beauti 
ful  road,  through  pleasant  villages,  in  a  fine  vehicle,  drawn 
by  a  pair  of  'fast  bays')  —  when  HAYWARDE,  noting  a 
long  neck  of  land  pushing  out  into  the  Sound,  bare  at  low 
tide,  and  thickly  besprinkled  with  crows,  inquired,  '  What 
is  that  ?— '  Long-Neck,' '  Horse-neck,' '  Cow-Neck,'  '  Little- 
Neck,'  '  Rye-Neck,'  or  which  of  the  Long-Island  '  Necks ' 
is  it ? '  ' Neither,  I  fancy,'  answered  '  one  of  us  ; '  'it  is 
only  a  nameless  bar  putting  out  into  the  Sound :  but  I 
should  think  '  Crow-bar '  would  be  a  good  designation 
for  it.' 


NUMBER    FOURTEEN. 

A  REVERSED  WASH-TUB:  A  KAIL-ROAD  LYRIC  :  A  PERSONAL  I UNERAL :  THE 
TOPER'S  SPECTACLES:  REV.  JOHN  MASON  — QCAIXT  TABLE  'GRACES':  A 
MILITARY  DILEMMA:  MATRIMONIAL  INDIFFERENCE:  STANZAS  — 'SNOW': 
'FCNNY  MEN':  A  HOPEFUL  SON:  ANECDOTE  OF  WHITFIELD:  THE  —  GAL 
LOWS:  THE  VORK-'OL'SE  BOY  —  A  PARODY:  OLLAPOD'S  EPISTOLARY 

POETRY:   ANECDOTE  OF  ALT  AN  STEWART:  A  'BORE'  IN  THE  PILLORY. 


THE  horrors  of  '  Washing  Day1  have  composed  a  time- 
hallowed  theme  for  grumblers,  and  have  elicited  the 
soft  numbers  of  the  poets.  But  according  to  an  amusing 
traveller,  whose  '  Letters '  we  have  recently  read,  they  re 
move  far  off  the  annoyance  in  some  parts  of  the  old  world. 
At  Ouchy,  near  Lausanne,  he  writes :  '  I  saw  to-day  for 
the  first  time  in  my  life  a  converse  of  the  washing-tub 
theorem.  In  the  common  case,  the  washing-tub  contains 
water  and  the  linen,  but  not  the  washer-woman,  who  is  at 
some  point  without  the  tub  :  in  this  case  the  tub  contained 
the  washer-woman,  but  neither  water  cor  linen.  The 
women  were  standing  in  tubs  in  the  lake,  and  were  wash 
ing  clothes  which  were  on  the  outside  of  the  tub  in  the 
water.  The  mode  they  have  of  subsequently  smacking 
the  linen  on  the  stones  is  a  most  uncharitable  and  un- 


302 


A    RAIL-ROAD    LYRIC, 


Christian  proceeding.  Far  from  hiding  the  detects  of  an 
old  shirt,  it  puts  them  immediately  in  a  very  striking 
light,  and  makes  the  most  of  all  its  little  weaknesses.' 


THE  ensuing  lines  are  quite  in  the  style  of  THACK 
ERAY'S  '  PEG  of  Limavady  ; '  yet  they  are  perfectly  origi 
nal,  and  do  not  even  verge  upon  parody.  The  reader  will 
observe  how  completely  the  measure  chimes  with  rail-road 
motion  : 


SINGING  through  the  forests, 

Rattling  over  ridges, 
Shooting  under  arches, 

Rumbling  over  bridges: 
Whizzing  through  the  mountains, 

Buzzing  o'er  the  vale  — 
Bless  me !  —  this  is  pleasant, 

Riding  on  a  rail ! 

Men  of  different '  stations ' 

In  the  eye  of  Fame, 
Here  are  very  quickly 

Coining  to  the  same ,' 
High  and  lowly  people, 

Birds  of  every  feather, 
On  a  common  level 

Travelling  together. 

Gentlemen  in  shorts 

Looming  very  tall ; 
Gentleman  at  large 

Talking  very  small; 
Gentlemen  in  tights 

With  a  loose-ish  inien ; 
Gentlemen  in  gray 

Looking  rather  green : 


Gentlemen  quite  old 

Asking  for  the  news ; 
Gentlemen  in  black 

In  a  fit  of  '  blues ; ' 
Gentleman  in  claret. 

Sober  as  a  vicar : 
Gentleman  in  snuff 

Dreadfully  Ln  liquor : 

Stranger  on  the  right 
Looking  very  sunny, 

Obviously  reading 
Something  rather  funny ; 

Now  the  smiles  are  thicker: 
Wonder  what  they  mean  ? 

Faith  !  he  's  got  the  KNICKER 
BOCKER  Magazine ! 

Stranger  on  the  left 

Closing  up  his  peepers ; 
Now  he  snores  amain, 

Like  the  Seven  Sleepers ! 
At  his  feet  a  volume 

Gives  the  explanation, 
How  the  man  grew  stupid 

From  '  Association ! ' 


A    PERSONAL    FUNERAL. 


303 


Market-woman  careful 

Of  the  precious  casket, 
Knowing  '  eggs  are  eggs,' 

Tightly  holds  her  basket : 
Peeling  that  •  a  smash,' 

It'  it  came,  would  surely 
Send  her  eggs  to  pot 

Esther  prematurely! 

Ancient  maiden  lady 

Anxiously  remarks, 
That  there  must  be  peril 

'Mong  so  many  sparks : 
Eoguish-looking  fellow, 

Turning  to  the  stranger, 
Says  it 's  his  opinion 

£fo  is  out  of  danger. 


Woman  with  her  baby 

Sitting  vis-a-vis ; 
Baby  keeps  a-squalling, 

Woman  looks  at  me : 
Asks  about  the  distance, 

Says  it 's  tiresome  talking, 
^oisos  of  the  cars 

Are  BO  very  shocking ! 

Singing  through  the  forests, 

Eattling  over  ridges, 
Shooting  under  arches, 

Bumbling  over  bridges : 
Whizzing  through  the  mountains, 

Buzzing  o'er  the  vale  — 
Bless  me !  —  this  is  pleasant, 

Biding  on  a  rail ! 


THE  well-known  anecdote  of  '  JARVIS  and  the  melan 
choly  Frenchman'  with  the  segar-box  had  its  parallel  here 
a  shoit  time  since.  A  gentleman  of  bituminous  com 
plexion,  dressed  all  in  sables,  with  black  coat,  black  vest, 
black  gloves,  black  pantaloons,  and  black  hat,  with  a  verv 
long  black  streamer  depending  therefrom,  was  walking 
alone  through  Broadway  '  with  solemn  step  and  slow/ 
bearing  a  very  small  baby's  coffin  under  his  right  arm.  A 
brother  'darky'  corning  from  the  opposite  direction,  with 
a  recognitive  grin,  exposing  a  row  of  teeth  like  the  keys  of 
a  piano,  hailed  him  :  '  Well,  JOE  !  where  is  you  bound 
dis  mornin'  wid  yu  box  ? '  •  SAAM  ! '  said  the  mourner, 
with  a  look  of  offended  dignity,  and  a  *  stand-aside '  wave 


304  THE    TOPER'S    SPECTACLES. 

of  the  arm,  'Go  'way ! — do  n't  you  see  dat  I  is  a  fu 
neral  ?  ' 


*  WHO  hath  redness  of  eyes ! '  This  interrogative 
'  portion  of  divine  scripture '  is  forcibly  illustrated  by  an 
anecdote,  related  with  most  effective  dryness  by  a  friend 
of  ours.  An  elderly  gentleman,  accustomed  to  '  indulge,' 
entered  the  bar-room  of  an  inn  in  the  pleasant  city  of 

H ,  on  the  Hudson,  where  set  a  grave  Friend  toasting 

his  toes  by  the  fire.  Lifting  a  pair  of  green  spectacles 
upon  his  forehead,  rubbing  his  inflamed  eyes,  and  calling 
for  a  hot  brandy-toddy,  he  seated  himself  by  the  grate ; 
and  as  he  did  so,  he  remarked  to  Uncle  BROADBRIM  that 
*  his  eyes  were  getting  weaker  and  weaker,  and  that  even 
spectacles  did  n't  seem  to  do  'em  any  good.'  '  I  '11  tell 
thee,  friend,'  rejoined  the  Quaker,  'what  I  think.  I  think 
if  thee  was  to  wear  thy  spectacles  over  thy  mouth  for  a  few 
months,  thy  eyes  would  get  sound  again!'  The  'com 
plainant'  did  not  even  return  thanks  for  this  medical 
counsel,  but  sipped  his  toddy  in  silence,  and  soon  after  left 
the  room,  '  uttering  never  a  word.' 


IT  is  related  of  the  celebrated  clergyman.  JOHN  MA 
SON,  that  sitting  at  a  steam-boat  table  on  one  occasion, 
just  as  the  passengers  were  '  falling  to '  in  the  customary 


QUAINT     TABLE-GRACES.  305 

manner,  he  suddenly  rapped  vehemently  upon  the  board 
with  the  end  of  his  knife,  and  exclaimed  :  '  Captain  !  is 
this  boat  out  of  the  jurisdiction  of  GOD  ALMIGHTY  ?  If  not, 
let  us  at  least  thank  HIM  for  his  continued  goodness  ; '  and 
he  proceeded  to  pronounce  '  grace '  amidst  the  most  reverent 
stillness.  It  is  to  be  hoped,  however,  that  his  'grace'  was 
not  like  the  few  set  words  handed  down  from  father  to 
son,  mumbled  without  emotion,  and  despatched  with  in 
decent  haste,  which  one  sometimes  hears  repeated  over 
country  repasts.  '  Bless  this  portion  of  food  now  in  readi 
ness  for  us  ;  give  it  to  us  in  thy  love ;  let  us  eat  and  drink 

in  thy  fear  —  for   CHRIST'S  sake LORENZO,  take  your 

fingers  out  of  that  plate!"1  was  a  grace  once  said  in  our 
hearing,  but  evidently  not  in  that  of  the  spoilt  boy, '  grow 
ing  and  always  hungry,'  who  could  not  wait  to  be  served. 
We  should  prefer  to  such  insensible  flippancy  the  practice 
of  an  old  divine  in  New-England,  who  in  asking  a  bless 
ing  upon  his  meals,  was  wont  to  name  each  separate  dish. 
Sitting  down  one  day  to  a  dinner,  which  consisted  partly  of 
clams,  bear-steak,  etc.,  he  was  forced  in  a  measure  to  fore 
go  his  usual  custom  of  furnishing  a  'bill  of  particulars.' 
'Bless  to  our  use,'  said  he,  'these  treasures  hid  iu  the 

sand;  bless  this '     But  the  bear's-meat  puzzled  him, 

and  he  concluded  with  :  '  Oh  !  LORD,  thou  only  knoivest 
what  it  is  /' 


306  A    MILITARY    DILEMMA. 

OUR  readers  will  remember  the  order  given  by  the 
Chinese  Emperor  to  a  corps  of  Mandarins,  who  were  to 
exterminate  the  'barbarian  Englishers'  in  the  harbor  of 
Canton,  by  going  down  to  the  bank  of  the  river  in  the 
night,  and  then  and  there  '  dive  straight  on  board  those 
foreign  ships,  and  put  every  soul  of  them  to  death  ! ' 
Subsequently,  however,  the  red-bristling  foreigners  man 
aged  to  land,  when,  as  it  since  turns  out,  it  became  neces 
sary  to  adopt  more  sanguinary  measures.  The  Emperor 
called  up  one  of  his  '  great  generals,'  and  gave  him  his 
orders :  '  You  must  dress  your  soldiers,'  said  he, '  in  a  very 
frightful  manner,  painting  their  faces  with  the. most  horrid 
figures,  and  depicting  dragons  and  monsters  on  your  ban- 
Bel's:  you  must  then  rush  upon  the  barbarians  with  fear 
ful  outcries,  and  terrify  them  so  that  they  will  fall  down 
flat  on  their  faces  ;  and  when  they  are  once  down,'  said 
the  Imperial  potentate,  '  their  breeches  are  so  tight  that 
they  can  never  get  up  again  ! ' 

'DRESS  always  and  act  to  please  your  partner  for  life, 
as  you  were  fain  to  do  before  the  nuptial-knot  was  tied.' 
This  is  an  old  maxim,  and  here  is  'a  commentator  upon 
it.'  A  newly-married  lady  is  suddenly  surprised  by  a  visit 
from  a  newly-married  man,  when  she  straightway  begins 


STANZAS:    Sxow.  307 

to  apologize  :  '  She  is  horribly  chagrined,  and  out  of  coun 
tenance,  to  be  caught  in  such  a  dishabille ;  she  did  not 
mind  how  her  clothes  were  huddled  on,  not  expecting  any 
company,  there  being  nobody  at  home  but  her  husband  !' 
The  husband  meanwhile  shakes  the  visitor's  hand,  and 
says :  '  I  am  heartily  glad  to  see  you,  JACK  :  I  do  n't 
know  how  it  was,  I  was  almost  asleep :  for  as  there  was 
nobody  at  home  but  my  wife,  I  did  not  know  what  to  do 
with  myself ! ' 


THE  lines  entitled  '  Snow '  are  imbued  with  true  feel 
ing.  It  is  easy  to  see  that  they  came  from  the  writer's 
heart.  '  I  looked  out  of  the  window,'  said  our  correspond 
ent,  in  the  note  which  encloses  the  lines  to  us,  *  through  a 
thick,  sluggish  snow,  the  first  of  the  season,  that  was  fall 
ing  softly  across  the  river;  and  there  I  saw  a  house,  and 
over  the  door  was  one  of  those  rose-trees  that  grow  so 
large  and  luxuriantly  in  this  meridian.  The  snow  was 
falling  upon  it ;  and  certain  memories  came  into  my  heart 
of  a  hand  that  plucked  roses,  flushed  with  beauty  and 
damp  with  dew,  in  'the  days  that  are  no  more  !'  The 
buds  and  the  leaves  of  the  bush  had  vanished  ;  the  air  of 
those  evenings  had  floated  away  ;  and  she  had  fled  I' 

FALL  thickly  on  the  rose-bush, 
Oh !  faintly-falling  snow : 


308  < FUNNY    MEN.' 

For  she  is  gone  who  trained  its  branch 
And  wooed  its  bud  to  blow. 

Cover  the  well-known  pathway, 
Oh,  damp,  December  snow  ! 

Her  step  no  longer  lingers  there, 
When  stars  begin  to  glow. 

Melt  in  the  rapid  river, 
Oh,  cold  and  cheerless  snow ! 

She  sees  no  more  its  sudden  wave, 
Nor  hears  its  foaming  flow. 

Chill  every  song-bird's  music, 

Oh,  silent,  sullen  snow  ! 
I  cannot  hear  her  loving  voice, 

That  lulled  me  long  ago. 

Sleep  on  the  Earth's  broad  bosom, 
Oh,  weary,  winter  snow  ! 

Its  fragrant  flowers,  and  blithesome  birds 
Should  with  its  loved  one  go  1 


IT  is  our  private  opinion  that  a  merely  *  funny  man '  is 
one  of  the  biggest  bores  in  all  the  land  of  Boredom.  Wit 
and  humor,  united  to  general  discernment,  plain  common 
sense,  a  love  of  the  beautiful,  and  warm  sensibility,  these 
constitute  the  true  'man  of  wit.'  Of  such  was  SYDNEY 
SMITH  and  HOOD,  and  of  such,  preeminently,  in  these 
'latter  days,'  is  DICKENS. 


A    HOPEFUL    SON.  309 

'  MILK  FOR  BABES,'  an  elaborately-concocted  satire 
upon  a  certain  class  of  l  learned  and  pious  Land-books  for 
urchins  of  both  sexes,'  is  not  without  humor,  and  ridicules 
what  indeed  in  some  respects  deserves  animadversion. 
We  affect  as  little  as  our  correspondent  what  has  been 
rightly  termed  '  a  clumsy  fumbling  for  the  half-formed  in 
tellect,  a  merciless  hunting  down  of  the  tender  and  un 
fledged  thought,'  through  the  means  of  '  instructive '  little 
books,  wherein  an  insipid  tale  goes  feebly  wriggling 
through  an  unmerciful  load  of  moral,  religious,  and  scien 
tific  preaching  ;  or  an  apparently  simple  dialogue  involves 
subjects  of  the  highest  difficulty,  which  are  chattered  over 
between  two  juvenile  prodigies,  or  delivered  to  them  in 
mouthfuls,  curiously  adapted  to  their  powers  of  swallow 
ing.  '  The  minor  manners  and  duties,'  says  our  corre 
spondent,  '  are  quite  overlooked  by  misguided  parents 
now-a-days;'  and  this  he  illustrates  by  an  anecdote: 
'  THOMAS,  my  son,'  said  a  father  to  a  lad  in  my  hearing, 
the  other  day,  *  won't  you  show  the  gentleman  your  last 
composition  3 '  '  I  do  n't  want  to,'  said  he.  '  I  wish  you 
would,'  responded  the  father.  '  I  wont ! '  was  the  reply  ; 
'  I  'II  be  goy-blamed  if  I  do  ! '  A  sickly,  half-approving 
>mile  passed  over  the  face  of  the  father,  as  he  said,  in  ex 
tenuation  of  his  son's  brusquerie  :  '  TOM  do  n't  lack  man 
ners  generally  ;  but  the  fact  is,  he  '5  got  such  a  cold,  he  is 
almost  a  fool  f  Kind  parent !  happy  boy  1 


310  ANECDOTE    OF    WHITFIELD. 


THERE  is  in  these  humane  and  benevolent  days  an 
increasing  sympathy  in  the  public  mind  for  a  man  con 
demned  to  '  march  sorrowfully  up  to  the  gallows,  there  to 
be  noosed  up,  vibrate  his  hour,  and  await  the  dissecting- 
knife  of  the  surgeon,'  who  fits  his  bones  into  a  skeleton 
for  medical  purposes.  '  There  never  was  a  public  hang 
ing,'  says  a  late  advocate  of  the  abolition  of  capital  punish 
ment,  '  that  was  productive  of  any  thing  but  evil.'  There 
is  an  anecdote  recorded  of  WHITFIELD,  however,  which 
seems  to  refute  this  position,  in  at  least  one  instance.  This 
eloquent  divine,  while  at  Edinburgh,  attended  a  public 
execution.  His  appearance  upon  the  ground  drew  the 
eyes  of  all  around  him,  and  raised  a  variety  of  opinions  as 
to  the  motives  which  led  him  to  join  in  the  crowd.  The 
next  day,  being  Sunday,  he  preached  to  a  large  body  of 
men,  women  and  children,  in  a  field  near  the  city.  In 
the  course  of  his  sermon,  he  adverted  to  the  execution 
which  had  taken  place  the  preceding  day.  '  I  know,'  said 
he,  '  that  many  of  you  will  find  it  difficult  to  reconcile  my 
appearance  yesterday  with  my  character.  Many  of  you 
will  say,  that  my  moments  would  have  been  better  em 
ployed  in  praying  with  the  unhappy  man,  than  in  attend 
ing  him  to  the  fatal  tree,  and  that  perhaps  curiosity  was 
the  only  cause  that  converted  me  into  a  spectator  on  that 
occasion  :  but  those  who  ascribe  that  uncharitable  motive 


THE    GALLOWS.  311 

to  me  are  under  a  mistake.  I  witnessed  the  conduct  of 
almost  every  one  present  on  that  occasion,  and  I  was 
highly  pleased  with  it.  It  has  given  me  a  verv  favorable 
impression  of  the  Scottish  nation.  Your  sympathy  was 
visible  on  your  countenances,  and  reflected  the  greatest 
honor  on  your  hearts  :  particularly  when  the  moment  ar 
rived'  in  which  your  unhappy  fellow-creature  was  to  clos 
his  eyes  on  this  world  for  ever,  you  all,  as  if  moved  by 
one  impulse,  turned  your  heads  aside  and  wept.  Those 
tears  were  precious,  and  will  be  held  in  remembrance. 
How  different  was  it  when  the  SAVIOUR  of  mankind  was 
extended  on  the  cross  !  The  Jews,  instead  of  sympathizing 
in  his  sorrows,  triumphed  in  them.  They  reviled  him 
with  bitter  expressions,  with  words  even  more  bitter  than 
the  gall  and  vinegar  which  they  gave  him  to  drink.  Xot 
one  of  them  all  that  witnessed  his  pains,  turned  the  head 
aside  even  in  the  last  pang.  Yes,  there  was  one  ;  that 
glorious  luminary,  (pointing  to  the  sun,)  veiled  his  bright 
face  and  sailed  on  in  tenfold  night ! '  This  is  eloquence  ! 
Would  that  we  could  have  seen  the  beaming  features,  the 
*  melting  eye,  turned  toward  heaven,'  which  indelibly  im 
pressed  these  words  upon  the  heart  of  every  hearer  ! 


EVERY  body  has  heard  or  seen  '  The  Mistletoe- Bough? 
that  Radcliffian  story  in  song,  of  a  bride  who  had  hid  her- 


312  THE    VORK-'OUSE    BOY. 

self  in  an  old  oak  chest  (which  'closed  with  a  spring')  on 
the  night  of  her  marriage,  and  who  was  seen  no  more, 
until  years  had  rolled  by,  when  her  skeleton,  in  its  bridal 
gear,  was  accidentally  discovered  in  the  living  tomb  which 
she  had  sought  in  merriment.  There  is  a  capital  parody 
on  this  very  Germanic  tale,  entitled  '  The  Vork-'Ouse  Boy] 
which  is  set  to  the  same  music,  and  sung  with  a  particu 
larly  lugubrious  and  '  dying  fall '  in  the  chorus.  It  would 
*  create  a  soul  under  the  ribs  of  Death '  to  hear  it  '  exe 
cuted'  in  the  voice  and  with  the  instrumentation  of  a 
certain  friend  of  '  Old  KNICK.'S,'  who  in  rendering  it  pre 
serves  the  original  pathos  and  irresistible  cockneyism,  to 
a  charm.  The  last  verse  brought  tears  to  our  eyes : 

THE   VOKK-'OUSE   BOY. 

TUB  great-coats  hung  in  the  vork-'ouse  hall, 
The  vite-'ats  shone  on  the  vite-vashed  wall ; 
And  the  paupers  all  were  blithe  and  gay, 
A-keepin'  their  Christmas  'oliday  : 
Yen  the  Master  he  cried,  with  a  savage  leer, 
'  You  '11  all  get  soup  for  your  Christmas  cheer ! ' 

Oh  !  the  vork-'ouse  boy  ! 

Oh !  the  vork-'ouse  boy ! 

At  length  all  ov  us  to  bed  vas  sent ; 
But  a  boy  vas  missing  —  in  search  ve  vent ! 
Ye  sought  him  above  and  ve  sought  him  below, 
And  ve  sought  him  vith  faces  of  grief  and  vo ! 
Ye  sought  in  each  corner,  each  kettle,  each  pot  — 
In  the  vater-butt  looked  —  but  found  him  not! 


OLLAPOD'S    EPISTOLARY    POETRY.     313 

And  veeks  rolled  on,  and  ve  all  vere  told 

That  the  vork-'ouse  boy  had  been  Burked  and  sold ! 

Oh  !  the  vork-'ouse  boy ! 

Oh  !  the  vork-'ouse  boy ! 

But  ven  the  soup-coppers  repair  did  need, 

The  copper-sinith  come,  and  there  he  seed 

A  dollop  of  bones  lie  grizzling  there, 

In  a  leg  of  the  trowse's  the  boy  did  vear  ! 

To  gain  his  fill  the  lad  did  stoop, 

And  dreadful  to  tell,  he  vas  b'iled  into  soup ! 

And  ve  all  ov  us  said,  and  ve  said  it  vith  sneers, 

That  he  -was  pushed  in  by  the  overseers ! 

Oh !  the  vork-'ouse  boy ! 

Oh !  the  vork-'onse  boy ! 


THE  death  of  the  late  SAMUEL  WOODWORTH  should 
not  pass  unnoted.  He  has  written  many  beautiful  poems, 
which  will  live  as  long  as  the  language  ;  witness  his  '  Old 
Oaken  Bucket,'  that  will  be  sung  by  millions  yet  unborn. 
Mr.  WOODWORTH  was  a  warm-hearted  man,  a  good  hus 
band  and  father,  and  blameless  in  all  the  relations  of  life. 
One  characteristic  of  his  style  was  a  sort  of  treble-rhyming, 
which  we  at  one  time  fancied  to  be  a  very  difficult  species 
of  composition;  but  'OLLAPOD'  (may  he  rest  in  peace!) 
undeceived  us,  by  throwing  off  almost  impromptu  stanzas 
in  this  kind.  Resisting  all  entreaties,  on  one  occasion,  to 
prolong  a  winter-visit  in  Xew-York,  on  the  plea  that  the 
Delaware  would  be  frozen,  and  his  return  to  Philadelphia 
14 


314      ANECDOTE    OF    ALVAN    STEWART. 

rendered  difficult,  he  thus  referred  to  the  truth  of  his  pro 
phecy,  in  the  opening  of  a  poetical  epistle  by  the  next 
mail  after  his  arrival  at  home  : 

4 1  AM  glad,  as  it  is,  that  so  soon  I  departed 

To  this  goodly  city  at  once  to  return ; 
For  immediately  after,  old  BOREAS  had  started 

To  scatter  the  snows  from  his  locks  and  his  urn : 
If  1  'd  staid  till  Monday,  or  come  home  on  Sunday, 

I  should  have  had  one  day  of  pleasure,  't  is  true ; 
But  the  steam-boat  ceased  running,  and  therefore  'cunning1 

I  think  't  was,  my  shunning  to  tarry  with  you,1 

This  measure,  poor  '  OLLAPOD'  was  wont  to  say,  could  be 
'run  off  the  reel'  faster  than  any  other  with  which  he  was 
acquainted. 

THERE  is  a  pleasant  anecdote  related  of  Mr.  ALVAN 
STEWART,  of  Central  New-York,  which  strikes  us  as 
worthy  of  preservation.  He  was  dining  one  day  at  one  of 
our  fashionable  hotels ;  and  after  selecting  from  a  bill-of- 
fare  in  French  a  piece  of  roast-beef,  he  despatched  one  of 
the  sparse  corps  of  servants  to  procure  it.  He  waited  for 
some  time,  but  the  servant  '  came  not  back.'  At  length, 
observing  him  assisting  at  an  opposite  table,  he  beckoned 
to  him,  and  having  caught  his  eye,  exclaimed,  in  a  sono 
rous  voice,  '  Young  man,  I  am  hungry  /'  '  Ay,  ay,  Sir,' 
replied  the  waiter,  and  departed  a  second  time  for  the 
plate  of  beef.  After  some  time  had  elapsed,  the  beef  was 


A    'BORE'    ix    THE    PILLORY.          315 

placed  before  the  hungry  gentleman,  who  turned  a  solemn 
face  to  the  servant,  and  asked,  *  Are  you  the  boy  who  took 
iny  plate  for  this  beef  !'  'Yes,  Sir,  I  be,'  said  the  waiter. 
*No!'  exclaimed  Mr.  STEWART:  'why,  how  you  have 
grown  ! ' 


WHO  can  withhold  his  assent  to  the  justice  of  this  es 
timate  of  the  deserts  of  that  class  of  persons  (happily 
small)  who,  having  acquired  some  notoriety  as  '  conversa 
tionists,'  are  continually  striving  to  be  striking  or  pro 
found  ;  who  say  things  in  ten  words  which  require  only 
two ;  and  who  fancy  all  the  while  that  they  are  making  a 
great  impression  ?  '  It  is  easy  to  talk  of  carnivorous  animals 
and  beasts  of  prey;  but  does  such  a  man,  who  lays  waste 
a  whole  party  of  civilized  beings  by  prosing,  reflect  upon 
the  joy  he  spoils  and  the  misery  he  creates,  in  the  course 
of  his  life  ?  —  and  that  any  one  who  listens  to  him  through 
politeness,  would  prefer  ear-ache  or  tooth-ache  to  his  con 
versation  ?  Does  he  consider  the  extreme  uneasiness 
which  ensues,  when  the  company  have  discovered  that  he 
is  a  bore,  at  the  same  time  that  it  is  impossible  to  convey, 
by  words  or  manner,  the  most  distant  suspicion  of  the  dis 
covery  ?  And  then  who  punishes  this  bore?  What  ses 
sions  and  what  assizes  for  him  ?  What  bill  is  found 
against  him  ?  Who  indicts  him  ?  When  the  judges  have 
gone  their  vernal  and  autumnal  rounds,  the  sheep-stealer 


316  A    '"BoRE5    IN    THE    PILLORY. 

disappears ;  the  swindler  gets  ready  for  the  Bay  ;  the  solid 
parts  of  the  murderer  are  preserved  in  anatomical  collec 
tions.  But  after  twenty  years  of  crime,  the  bore  is  per 
haps  discovered  in  the  same  house;  eating  the  same  soup; 
unpunished,  untried,  undissected.'  Have  you  not  encoun 
tered,  reader,  in  the  course  of  what  Mrs.  GAMP  would  term 
your  '  pilgian's  progess  through  this  mortial  wale,'  an  oc 
casional  bore  of  this  stamp ;  a  man  whose  disquisitions 
(touching  mainly  perhaps  his  own  literary  opinions  and 
writings,  published  or  unpublished,)  beat  lettuces,  poppy- 
syrup,  mandragora,  hop-pillows,  and  the  whole  tribe  of 
narcotics,  all  to  nothing?  If  you  have  not,  you  are  lucky. 
We  know  who  has. 


NUMBER    FIFTEEN. 

OPENING  OF  AX  ANCIENT  VAULT  —  REFLECTION'S  :  AX  F.GG-PERSTJADEK  :  AX 
ACTOR  'CORNERED':  INQUISITIVE  PEOPLE:  A  VERITABLE  YANKEE  STORY: 
VICISSITUDES  IN  '  GETTIXG  TO  YORK1'.  '  IN  THE  XAME  OF  TIIE  '  OCEAN  — 
'  FIGS  !  '  :  A  SELF-DEPENDENT  PHILOSOPHER  :  A  '  STRAWBERRY  DITTO  '  : 
SITTING  AND  LYING  FOR  A  BUST  :  THE  METROPOLITAN  STONE-GAME  :  THE 
CHRISTIAN  WAY-FARES. 

JUST  after  you  pass  from  Broadway  into  Wall-street, 
citizen  reader,  you  will  perceive  on  your  left  a  wide 
open  space,  covered  with  rubbish  and  dotted  with  laborers. 
Turn  aside  for  a  moment  and  survey  the  scene.  It  is  a 
space  of  ground  occupied  by  two  sacred  edifices,  in  suc 
cession,  the  latest  of  which  has  just  been  taken  down. 
The  numerous  arches  which  you  see  around,  some  almost 
demolished,  and  others  slowly  yielding  to  the  crow-bar 
and  pick-axe,  were  the  vaults  of  the  dead.  Advance  a 
few  vards  and  examine  them  more  attentively.  The  work 
men  are  removing  all  that  remains  of  the  forms  that  once 
tenanted  them  ;  sometimes  so  little  as  scarcely  to  be  per 
ceptible;  a  spade-full  or  so  of  dust,  a  shapeless  lump  of 
porous  bone,  and  perhaps  a  dank  piece  of  worm-eaten 
mahogany,  bein^  all  that  is  left.  In  the  two  or  three 


318      OPENING    OF    AN     ANCIENT    VAULT. 

small  pine  boxes  which  you  see  in  the  centre  of  the  square 
are  deposited,  in  a  promiscuous  heap,  the  few  bones,  large 
and  small,  which  were  found  commingled  together  in  the 
vaults ;  and  where  the  lines  of  graves  ran  on  each  side  of 
the  church,  are  also  now  and  then  found  similar  '  trophies 
of  the  dead  and  gone.'  Pause  at  this  spot,  reader  —  as 
by  an  eddy  that  slowly  revolves  in  the  curve  of  some 
rushing  stream  —  pause  for  a  moment,  and  ere  you  hasten 
on  to  mingle  with  4  multitudes  commercing '  in  the  crowd 
ed  mart  of  traffic,  solemnly  meditate,  and  commune  with 
yourself  :  What  am  I  ?  and  whither  am  I  tending  ?  Men 
with  spirits  as  buoyant  and  hopes  as  bright  as  my  own  ; 
who  once  met  daily  in  the  busy  thoroughfares  of  the  me 
tropolis  ;  who  mingled  with  each  other  in  fraternal  inter 
course  ;  who  sat  side  by  side  in  the  same  house  of  prayer ; 
where  are  they  now  ?  '  Shrunk  to  this  little  measure  ! ' 
their  very  remains  commingled  together  in  the  dust,  and 
dwindled  into  indistinctness  and  inextricable  confusion  : 

'  AND  is  it  thus !  —  is  human  love 
So  very  light  and  frail  a  thing! 
And  must  life's  brightest  visions  move 
For  ever  on  Time's  restless  wing  ? 

'  Must  all  the  eyes  that  still  are  bright, 

And  all  the  lips  that  talk  of  bliss, 
And  all  the  forms  so  fair  to  sight, 
Hereafter  only  come  to  this  ? ' 

Even  so !     When  the  rattling  earth  is  cast  upon  our 


REFLECTIONS.  319 

coffin,  it  sends  up  a  hollow  sound,  which  after  a  few  faint 
echoes,  dies  and  is  buried  in  oblivious  silence.  That  fleet 
ing  noise  is  our  posthumous  renown.  '  The  earth  itself,' 
says  the  great  MILTON,  '  is  a  point,  not  only  in  respect  of 
the  heavens  above  us,  but  of  that  heavenly  and  celestial 
part  within  us.  The  mass  of  flesh  that  circumscribes  me, 
limits  not  my  mind.  That  surface  that  tells  the  heavens 
they  have  an  end,  cannot  persuade  me  /  have  any.  There 
is  a  divinity  within  us :  something  that  was  before  the  ele 
ments,  and  owes  no  homage  unto  the  sun.'  Bear  this  well 
in  mind,  therefore,  that  *  affections  well-placed  and  duti 
fully  cherished  ;  friendships  happily  formed  and  faithfully 
maintained  ;  knowledge  acquired  with  worthy  intent,  and 
intellectual  powers  that  have  been  diligently  improved  as 
the  talents  which  the  great  Author  of  Mind  has  commit 
ted  to  our  keeping;  will  accompany  us  into  another  state 
of  existence,  as  surely  as  the  soul  in  that  state  retains  its 
identity  and  its  consciousness.'  Xo  one,  says  SOLOX,  can 
truly  be  called  happy,  until  his  life  has  terminated  in 
a  happy  death  ;  and  surely  his  death  will  be  the  happiest, 
who  in  his  day  and  generation  has  done  the  most  good  to 
his  fellow-men.  Seek  out,  then,  those  unhappy  wretches 
who  are  shunned  because  penniless  and  forlorn  ;  oppressed 
and  wronged,  because  weak  and  powerless ;  who  endure 
poverty  without  pity,  age  without  reverence,  want  without 
succor,  and  pain  without  sympathy ;  seek  them  out,  and 


320  AN     EGG-PERSUADER. 

relieve  them.  Then  will  the 'blessing  of  him  that  was 
ready  to  perish '  cheer  your  last  hour.  Then  there  will  be 
joy  in  the  thought  that 

'  our  living  bodies  (though  they  seem 

To  others  more,  or  more  in  our  esteem) 
Are  but  the  shadow  of  that  real  Being, 
"Which  doth  extend  beyond  the  fleshly  seeing, 
And  cannot  be  discerned  until  we  rise 
Immortal  objects  for  immortal  eyes.' 


IF  any  man  among  us  lacks  pride  in  his  country,  or 
in  the  ingenious  handicraft  of  his  fellow-citizens,  we  coun 
sel  him  to  step  into  the  Fair  of  the  American  Institute, 
at  NIBLO'S  Garden.  Is  there  any  nation  under  heaven, 
with  the  experience  that  our's  has  had,  that  can  excel  us 
in  the  useful  arts  ?  How  vain-glorious  soever  the  assump 
tion  may  seem,  we  think  not.  There  are  some  inventions 
on  exhibition  at  the  Fair  which  will  provoke,  a  smile  from 
the  observant  visitor ;  but  we  shall  not  name  them,  lest 
our  motives  should  be  misinterpreted.  The  truth  is,  we 
have  had  an  invention  '  thrown  out '  by  the  managers  ; 
and  any  adverse  remarks  of  ours  upon  the  '  improvements ' 
of  other  exhibitors,  would  be  placed  to  the  account  of  pri 
vate  pique.  Our  appeal  lies  to  the  public.  The  '  EJcka- 
laeoUon]  or  Chicken-Hatching  Machine,  suggested  to  us 
an  improved  plan  for  supplying  the  increased  demand  for 


AN    EGG-PERSUADER.  321 

eggs,  created  by  that  unique  steam-lien.  It  was  called 
'  The  Self-acting  Back- Action  Egg-Persuader]  and  was 
upon  the  following  principle :  A  nest,  in  the  usual 
form,  was  made  of  bent  pieces  of  whale-bone,  supported 
at  their  upper  ends  by  a  circular  hoop,  and  termina 
ting  in  very  thin  points  at  the  bottom  of  the  nest.  Be 
low  the  nest  was  suspended  a  circular  thread-netting. 
The  modus  operandi  of  the  invention  was  as  follows  : 
The  veritable  nest  being  concealed  by  the  usual  materiel, 
the  hen  mounts  in  good  faith,  settles  down,  and  deposits 
her  egg,  '  in  the  full  glow  of  conscious  security.'  The 
pliant  centre  of  the  nest  feels  the  weight  of  the  new  bur 
then,  yields  gently  to  the  pressure,  and  the  egg  is  safely 
deposited  in  the  netting  below.  The  hen  finding  after  all 
her  labor  '  a  product  of  niV  in  the  nest,  renews  her  mater 
nal  endeavors ;  nor  does  she  cease,  until  the  lower  basket 
of  net-work  is  filled  with  eggs,  and  there  remains  one  in 
the  veritable  nest.  Such,  fellow-citizens,  is  the  useful  in 
vention  which  was  'thrown  out'  by  the  Accepting  Com 
mittee  of  the  American  Institute  ! 


DID  you  never  meet,  reader,  on  board  a  steam-boat, 
in  a  rail-road  car,  or  in  society,  with  one  of  those  perking, 
inquisitive  persons,  who  try  to  pick  the  brains  of  every 
man  who  will  submit  to  the  process  ?  When  next  YOU 


322  AN    ACTOR    'CORNERED.' 

encounter  such  an  one,  adopt  the  '  interrupting  game,'  as 
played  by  a  traveller  upon  an  inquisitive  inn-keeper: 
*  Good  morning,  Sir  ;  how  do  you  do  ?  I  suppose  you 
are  going  to  —  Here  BONIFACE  paused,  expecting 

the  name  of  the  place  to  be  supplied ;  but  the  traveller 
answered  :  '  You  are  quite  right,  Sir  ;  I  generally  go  there 
at  this  season.'  *  Ah !  ahem  !  do  you  ?  And  no  doubt 

you    are    now  come  from '     'Right   again,   Sir;    I 

live  there.'  '  Oh  !  ah  !  do  you  ?  Well,  your  face  is  fa 
miliar  to  me  ;  I  have  met  you  somewhere,  I  am  quite ' 

'  Very  likely,  Sir ;  I  've  been  there  often.  Good  morning, 
Sir.'  '  Good  morning.'  '  Not  much  information  elicited 
from  that  witness  ! '  as  MEDDLE  says  in  the  play.  WAL- 
COTT,  that  very  clever  and  most  versatile  of  actors,  tells  us 
that  he  was  once  shut  up  in  an  apartment  of  a  New-Eng 
land  country  inn,  with  a  '  ginoowine '  female  inquisitor, 
who  had  just  alighted  from  a  stage-coach.  While  her 
male  attendant  had  gone  to  get  her  '  some  'fresHenls?  he 
was  left  in  the  room  with  her.  Being  engaged  with  a 
book  he  did  not  notice  her  particularly.  Presently  she 
observed,  looking  at  a  daub  of  portrait  hanging  against 
the  wall,  *  Do  yoe'u  kneow  whuse  picter  that  is  ?  It- looks 
like  a  fine  moral  creetur.'  '  I  am  afraid  you  mistake  the 
character  of  the  original,'  replied  Mr.  WALCOTT  ;  '  I  am 
informed  that  he  was  a  lodger,  who  was  leaving  clandes 
tinely,  without  paying  his  board,  and  that  his  portrait  was 


A    VERITABLE    YAXKEE    STORY.        323 

detained  as  security  in  part  for  his  dues.'  '  Yoeu  do  n't  say 
so!' — and  the  lady  passed  on  to  another  rude  painting, 
and  the  only  other  one  in  the  apartment.  Surveying  it  a 
moment,  she  again  inquired:  'Whuse  is  that  paintin' ? 
It's  a  pleasin'  picter,  but  he  wears  his  hair  cur'us.'  'That,' 
said  the  player,  '  is  a  copy  of  our  SAVIOUR.'  '  Xow  du 
tell — I  want  to  know!  Well,' she  continued,  'it  does 
look  sun' thiii'  like  him,  do  ri*t  it?"1  Reflection  as  to  the 
implied  familiarity  with  the  original  face,  which  enabled 
the  '  inquisitor'  to  detect  at  a  glance  a  general  resemblance, 
was  interrupted  by  the  appearance  of  the  '  'fresh'ents,'  in 
shape  of  '  nut-cakes  and  cider;'  and  presently,  says  our 
informant,  '  the  pair  went  on  their  way,  and  I  saw  them 


'  A  FEW  days  since  a  raw-looking  genius,  carrying  a 
cheap  hair-trunk,  made  his  appearance  on  board  a  sloop 
which  plies  between  New-York  and  a  small  port  on  the 
Connecticut  coast,  and  inquired  for  the  captain.  He  hailed 
from  Coos  county,  Xew-Hampshire,  and  presented  in  his 
appearance  a  perfect  specimen  of  a  fresh-caught  Yankee. 
He  wore  a  mixed  coat  of  home-made  fabric,  with  short 
square  skirts,  such  as  are  usually  called  '  bob-tail,'  lead- 
buttons,  and  sleeves  about  six  inches  too  short  at  the 
wrists.  His  pantaloons  were  striped,  and  his  legs  were 
thrust  a  long  way  through  them,  leaving  the  interval  be- 


324  'Q-ETTiNG    TO     YORK.' 

tween  the  legs  of  the  trowsers  and  his  heavy  laced  boots 
arrayed  in  a  substantial  pair  of  pepper-and-salt  yarn  stock 
ings.  On  a  head,  adorned  with  a  luxuriant  growth  of 
coarse  sandy  hair,  tallowed  to  a  nicety,  was  perched  a  hat 
much  worn  but  in  an  excellent  state  of  preservation,  with 
a  narrow  brim  and  huge  bell-crown,  serving  the  purpose 
of  a  travelling  valise  in  addition  to  the  other  uses  of  that 
article  of  wearing  apparel.  An  immense  collar,  rigid  with 
starch  and  erect  to  the  ears,  supported  by  a  cotton  cravat 
of  variegated  yellow  and  black,  completed  the  adornment 
of  his  outer  man.  He  seemed  about  twenty-five  veal's  of 
age ;  was  a  lean,  cadaverous-looking  individual,  standing 
some  six  feet  when  erect,  but  having  a  stoop  of  the 
shoulders  which  reduced  him  to  about  five-feet-nine.  A 
small  pinched-up  mouth,  peaked  nose,  high  cheek-bones, 
sunken  cheeks,  prominent  chin,  and  a  pair  of  bright  twink 
ling  eyes,  of  an  indescribable  color,  gave  an  air  of  extreme 
'cuteness'  to  his  physiognomy. 

This  was  obviously  his  first  visit  to  the  salt  water ; 
but  as  he  stood  upon  the  sloop's  deck  whistling  Yankee- 
doodle,  his  arms  thrust  into  his  pockets  up  to  the  elbows, 
one  leg  thrown  forward,  his  eyes  cast  upward  scanning 
the  rigging  with  the  air  of  a  connoisseur,  he  seemed  as 
much  at  home  as  though  he  was  a  veritable  '  ocean-child.' 
In  reply  to  a  question  as  to  his  business,  he  drawled 
out: 


'GETTING    TO     YORK.'  325 

'  Captiuir,  what  '11  yeou  charge  to  take  a  feller  tu 
York  city?' 

He  was  informed  that  the  fare  was  one  dollar  and 
fifty  cents. 

4 1  s'spect  yeou  mean  yeou  charge  a  feller  that  when 
yeou  find  him  ;  what  '11  yeou  take  a  feller  for,  when  he 
finds  himself? ' 

The  price  of  passage  without  board,  he  wa?  informed, 
was  seventy-five  cents. 

*  Then  I  shall  have  to  foot  it  tu  York  ;  you  see,  I  'm 
scant  on  't  for  funds,  and  I  must  have  a  leetle  somethin' 
left  to  feed  ine  a'ter  I  get  there  ;  can  't  get  along  without 
victuals.' 

'  Can  't  help  it,'  replied  the  captain  ;  '  that 's  our  low 
est  ;  we  ha'  n't  but  one  price.' 

'  Xeow  just  take  a  feller  for  half-a-dollar,  capting ; 
come,  neow  ;  if  yeou  will,  I  7U  help  du  up  the  chores 
•while  I  'in  aboard.' 

'  No,  Sir,  I  can  't  take  you  for  that  price.' 

The  <rreen-horn  squirted  a  long  stream  of  tobacco-juice 
upon  the  deck,  resumed  his  tune  of  Yankee-doodle, 
shouldered  his  hair-trunk,  and  walked  off.  In  about  an 
hour  he  returned,  and  with  a  grin  addressed  the  captain : 

*  Neow,  look  o'  here,  capting,  I  'm  in  distress  ;  I  posi- 
tively  haint  got  but  tew -dollars  in  the  world  ;  I  must  get 
tu  York,  or  I  shall  starve  ;  I  can  t  ^et  nothin'  to  du  here. 


326  'GETTING    TO    YORK.' 

Neow,  clu,  capting  ;  I  've  always  hear'n  tell  that  you  sailors 
was  generous  chaps.' 

This  appeal  to  the  captain's  professional  pride  had  its 
effect ;  and  he  agreed  to  take  the  persevering  mendicant 
for  fifty  cents,  provided  he  would  supply  himself  with  pro 
visions,  and  render  such  assistance  as  he  could  in  managing 
the  vessel. 

The  passage  was  unusually  long,  being  delayed  by 
contrary  winds  nearly  a  week  beyond  the  ordinary  time 
of  starting.  On  the  second  day  the  Yankee  ran  out  of 
provisions  ;  and  the  captain,  as  an  act  of  charity,  furnished 
him  from  the  vessel's  stores.  About  thirty-six  hours  be 
fore  their  arrival,  in  the  exuberance  of  his  exultation  at 
having  outwitted  the  captain,  he  disclosed  to  a  fellow- 
passenger  that  he  had  'lots  o'  cash,'  and  he  made  quite  a 
display  of  loose  change.  This  soon  came  to  the  ears  of 
the  captain,  who  was  so  indignant  at  the  imposition  which 
had  been  practised  upon  him,  that  he  was  about  setting 
the  tricky  customer  ashore,  to  '  foot  it  to  York '  the  best 
way  he  could  ;  but  on  reflection,  he  concluded  that  it 
would  be  a  worse  punishment  to  keep  him  on  board,  stop 
his  rations,  and  put  him  to  hard  work.  From  this  time 
until  their  arrival,  the  Yankee's  situation  was  no  sinecure. 
Furnished  with  a  cloth,  and  a  bucket  of  sand,  he  was  set 
to  scouring  the  anchor  !  Being  inured  to  labor,  that  did 
not  trouble  him  much  ;  but  to  work  on  an  empty  stomach 


:  Gr  E  T  T  i  x  G    TO    YORK.'  327 

for  thirty-six  hours,  and  endure  the  curses  of  the  enraged 
captain,  and  the  taunts  and  jeers  of  the  passengers  and 
crew,  and  all  for  the  small  matter  of  twenty-five  cents,  he 
thought  was  '  paying  rather  dear  for  the  whistle  ! '  Great 
was  his  joy,  therefore,  when  they  hauled  into  the  slip  at 
New-York  ;  and  before  the  sloop's  side  had  touched  the 
dock,  he  jumped  ashore.  Leaving  the  little  hair-trunk  to 
be  removed  after  he  had  satisfied  his  hunger,  he  hastened 
to  the  nearest  place  where  food  could  be  procured.  This 
happened  to  be  a  huckster's  stand  at  the  head  of  the  slip ; 
where,  among  other  eatables,  were  displayed  some  fine- 
looking  boiled  lobsters.  Our  verdant  genius  had  often 
heard  lobsters  spoken  of  as  excellent  food,  although  he 
had  never  tasted  any  ;  this  seemed  a  good  opportunity  to 
satisfy  his  hunger,  and  at  the  same  time  to  enjoy  a  rare 
luxury  ;  so  after  bargaining  awhile,  and  beating  the  old 
woman  down  in  her  price  some  three  or  four  cents,  he 
bought  three  lobsters  and  as  many  Boston  ;  crackers,' 
with  which  he  returned  to  the  sloop. 

Meanwhile  one  of  the  passengers,  a  wag  of  the  first 
order,  having  been  up  into  the  city,  returned  on  board 
and  noticed  the  Yankee,  at  the  heel  of  the  bowsprit, 
seated  on  his  hair-trunk,  and  '  goin'  into'  his  bargain 
tooth  and  nail.  It  was  a  greedy  spectacle  !  He  wrenched 
the  jaws  and  claws  of  the  lobsters  apart  with  unnecessary 
strength,  drawing  out  with  voracity  sharp  splinters  of  the 


328  'GETTING    TO    YORK.' 

meat,  and  biting  them  off  close  down  to  the  sockets  \vhicl 
held  them.     Such   a  smacking  and   cracking  was  nevei 
heard  before.     Carelessly  sauntering  within  hearing,  the 
waggish   passenger   gave    the    captain    a  wink,   and   re 
marked  : 

'  This  is  a  horrible  business,  captain  ! ' 
*  What  is  a  horrible  business  ?'  asked  the  skipper. 
'  Hain'  t  you  heard  the  news  2  All  the  papers  are  full 
of  it.  Some  Jersey  fishing-smacks  have  been  taking  lob 
sters  on  the  copperas-banks  off  Barnegat,  and  have  sold 
them  all  over  the  city.  Every  person  who  has  eaten  any 
of  them  is  p'isoned.  Fifty-three  have  died  since  morning ; 
there  is  a  tremendous  excitement  about  it.  As  I  came 
down,  I  saw  an  officer  arrest  the  old  woman  who  keeps  a 
stand  at  the  head  of  the  slip,  for  selling  some  of  the  same 
lobsters.' 

The  Yankee,  who  had  already  devoured  one  and  part 
of  another,  paused  at  the  narration,  as  if  suddenly  para 
lyzed  ;  then  dropping  the  fragment  which  he  held,  with 
the  untouched  prize,  into  the  water,  his  mouth  filled  with 
cracker-and-lobster,  his  enormous  palms  extended  over 
his  abdomen,  his  face  pallid  with  terror,  he  exclaimed  : 

'  Oh  golly  !  what  shall  I  du  !  What  shall  I  du  !  I  'm 
sartingly  a  dead  man  !  Darn  York  !  Cuss  the  lobsters  ! 
I  wish  I  'd  staid  tu  hum !  Oh,  my  beowels  !  my 
beowels  ! ' 


'  GETTING    TO    YORK.'  329 

'If  that  d — -d  green-horn  has  n't  been  eating  some  of 
'em  !  —  run  for  a  doctor!'  exclaimed  the  captain.  Some 
one  started  ashore  for  a  physician.  In  the  mean  time  the 
Yankee  continued  to  groan  and  lament,  attracting  a  large 
crowd  of  spectators  by  his  cries  :  '  Oh,  SUKE  !  if  I  had 
only  taken  your  advice,  and  kept  clear  of  this  tarnal  York 
city!  I'm  dying  —  I  know  I  am!  My  mouth  tastes 
jest  like  a  rusty  cent !  The  doctor  '11  charge  an  all-fired 
price  to  cure  me,  I  s'spect.  There,  I  'in  spitting  green  !  — 
that  's  the  copperas  !  I  shall  die  before  the  doctor  gets 
here  !  Murder  !  murder !  murder  ! ' 

Some  one  personating  a  physician  now  made  his  ap 
pearance,  felt  of  the  patient's  pulse,  examined  his  tongue, 
and  pronounced  it  a  clear  case  of  poisoning  from  eating 
copperas  lobsters.  He  prescribed  a  powerful  emetic, 
which  was  immediately  administered  in  the  form  of  a 
quart  of  1  tike-warm  salt  water.  The  effect  was  powerful 
beyond  explanation.  It  produced  a  prodigious  paroxysm, 
and  kept  him  in  a  continual  shudder  for  more  than  an 
hour,  during  which  his  case  seemed  to  be  very  doubtful. 
He  kept  girding  his  stomach  with  his  two  hands,  squeezing 
his  viscera,  and  bowing  down  as  the  contending  forces 
racked  his  whole  inner  man.  In  the  pauses  of  his  pangs 
he  uttered  sundry  exclamations,  such  as,  '  Oh,  SUKE  ! 
damn  lobsters  !  cuss  York  city  !  Oh,  my  beowels  !  If  I 
ever  get  hum  again  you  '11  never  catch There  it^is 


330  'Q-ETTiNG    TO    YORK.' 

again  !  I  shall  die  !  Parson  DULITTLE  !  Parson  DULIT- 
TLE  !  if  I  had  n't  neglected  your  preachin' ! '  etc.,  to  the 
great  edification  and  amusement  of  the  by-standers.  At 
length  the  doctor  pronounced  him  free  from  danger  and 
convalescent.  The  next  thing  was  the  payment  of  the 
fee,  which  he  was  informed  was  five  dollars.  He  groaned 
in  spirit,  and  his  '  beowels '  yearned  worse  than  ever  at 
the  thought  of  parting  with  such  a  sum  of  money.  There 
was  no  help  for  it,  however ;  so  lie  '  forked  over '  the  V, 
and  shouldering  his  hair-trunk,  went  growling  on  his  way. 


WE  have  often  heard  of  persons  talking  with  angry 
vehemence  to  inanimate  objects  which  displeased  them  ; 
and  we  have  even  heard  of  these  same  objects  being  'put 
upon  their  good  behavior,'  as  in  the  case  of  the  sailor  who 
reminded  his  staunch  craft,  when  she  was  sailing  beauti 
fully  before  the  wind,  that  if  she  would  behave  equally 
well  during  the  voyage,  she  should  have  a  handsome  coat 
of  paint  the  very  day  after  she  arrived  at  her  destined 
port.  One  of  the  best  things  in  this  kind,  however,  which 
we  remember  to  have  heard,  was  told  us  the  other  day  by 
a  friend,  whom  no  'good  thing'  ever  escapes.  A  vessel 
in  the  Mediterranean,  loaded  to  the  gunwale  with  a  rich 
cargo  of  figs,  was  wrecked  in  a  tremendouf  storm  ;  the 
captain  and  mate  being  saved  by  a  miracle.  The  next 


A    SELF-DEPENDENT    PHILOSOPHER.     331 

day,  by  one  of  its  sudden  changes,  the  blue  ocean  was  as 
smooth  as  glass  :  scarcely  a  cat's-paw  of  wind  could  be 
traced,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach.  The  captain  of  the 
wrecked  vessel,  however,  walking  along  the  coast  near 
Lisbon,  surveyed  the  scene  with  a  jaundiced  eye.  '  Oh  ! 
yes!'  said  he,  'mighty  still  now;  smooth  enough  to-day; 
but  I  see  through  you;  /  know  what  you  want  —  you 
icant  more  Jigs !  You  do  n't  catch  me  fig* in,  though, 
mind  I  tell  you  !' 


'  The  Changeless  Philosopher '  is  not  bad  ;  nay,  it  is 
very  good  —  but  not  quite  original.  GOLDSMITH  has  a 
character  so  much  like  the  '  philosopher,'  that  we  hardly 
think  both  can  be  original  creations.  Part  of  our  '  peri 
patetic'  hero's  reasoning  seems  also  to  have  been  borrowed 
from  the  bankrupt  '\VVLDE  GATES'  argument  in  extenu 
ation  of  stealing  a  conveyance  in  town,  and  making  an 
inroad  upon  the  larders  and  bars  of  sundry  suburban 
houses  of  entertainment,  'without  regard  to  expense:'  'I 
do  n't  know  whether  things  are  not  funnier  when  you  've 
got  no  money  at  all,  than  when  your  pockets  are  brimful. 
Take  all  you  can,  and  no  responsibility  ;  no  forking  down 
or  settling  up  ;  a  free  blow,  every-which-way.  Get  kicked 
a  little  sometimes ;  but  that  mends  itself  cheap ;  and 
when  you  've  had  a  ride  and  trimmings,  whisky-punch 


332  A    'STRAWBERRY    DITTO.' 

and  fried  oysters,  a  dance,  an  upset,  and  a  fight  with 
chairs  and  decanters,  why  what  can  they  do  with  you 
then,  if  you  are  independent  in  your  circumstances,  arid 
have  n't  got  a  red  cent  ?  They  can  't  imride  a  fellow ; 
no,  nor  undance  him  neither.  When  you  've  had  some 
thing  to  drink,  you  're  a  fixed  fact,  and  can  't  be  un- 
punched  ! ' 


WE  were  not  a  little  amused  the  other  evening  at 
NIBLO'S,  by  a  dialogue  which  we  overheard  between  a 
verdant-looking  biped  and  a  colored  'gemman'  officiating 
as  waiter.  Taking  up  a  little  bill  from  one  of  the  small 
tables,  the  white  youth  ran  over  the  items,  as  'Vanilla 
cream,'  '  Strawberry,  do.,'  *  Raspberry,  do.,'  etc.  At  length, 
'  Bring  me,'  said  he  to  the  waiter,  '  some  o'  your  '  Straw 
berry  Do!"  The  'colored  person'  looked  at  the  dish 
indicated  by  the  finger  of  his  interlocutor :  '  Oh  ! '  he  ex 
plained,  'that  means  ditto;  it  means  that  it  's  the  same 
thing,  you  see.'  'Very  well,  then,  bring  me  a  Straw-, 
berry  Ditto;  you  've  got  it,  ha'nt  ye?  There's  a  man 
there  's  jest  sent  and  had  one  fetch'd.  Jest  bring  me  one 
on 'em!'  At  that  moment  we  heard  the  tones  of  Mrs. 
Mo  WATT'S  most  musical  voice ;  the  curtain  was  up  ;  and 
we  left  the  intelligent  inquisitor  thrusting  into  his  very 
throat  large  heaps  of  *  Strawberry  Ditto.' 


SITTING    AND    LYING    FOR    A    BUST.     333 


MR.  FOWLER,  'practical  phrenologist,'  has  issued  an 
elaborate  work  on  his  '  science.'  It  contains  the  engraved 
busts  of  a  good  many  men  remarkable  for  their  bumps. 
We  once  *  lay '  for  our  plaster-portrait  to  Mr.  FOWLER,  and 
kept  a  very  sober  face  in  our  coffin-like  box  until  he  had 
piled  the  liquid  materiel  around  our  smoothly-greased 
head  and  face,  to  within  a  half  an  inch  of  the  mouth ; 
but  when  he  began  to  feed  the  adjacent  features  with  a 
spoon,  and  we  saw  only  a  nose  sticking  out  of  the  warm 
white  hasty-pudding,  '  human-natur' '  could  n't  stand  it ; 
and  just  as  for  as  those  features  could  laugh  they  did  ;  the 
muscles  below  however  were  '  stuck  ; '  and  the  result  in 
the  cast  was  a  face  solemn  as  an  owl's  up  to  the  outer  line 
of  a  small  circle  embracing  the  mouth  and  muscles  imme 
diately  adjacent,  which  were  themselves  'full  of  mirth.' 
'  Picture  it,  think  of  it,'  reader  !  And  yet  Mr.  FOWLER 
had  the  audacity  to  exhibit  that  bust  in  his  window  (PE 
TER  ROBINSON  the  murderer  on  one  side  and  our  friend 
Colonel  WEBB  on  the  other!)  until  we  extracted  a  promise 
from  him  to  remove  it  and  break  the  mould  which  had 
been  worse  than  an  '  iron  mask '  to  us. 


OUR  Tinnecum  friend  and  correspondent  saw  an  adroit 
trick  '  done  and  performed '  the  other  day  in  the  vicinity 


334     THE    METROPOLITAN    STONE- GAME. 

of  Washington-market.  A  fellow  loaned  a  countryish- 
looking  man  a  gold  watch  for  ten  dollars,  with  the  privi 
lege  of  redeeming  it  in  two  days,  for  a  dollar  premium. 
'  It  was  worth  sixty  ; '  '  belonged  to  his  father,'  etc. ;  but 
then  he  must  have  the  ten  dollars.  He  took  it  from  his 
pocket,  wrapped  a  paper  round  it,  gave  it  to  the  country 
man,  and  got  his  ten  dollars.  '  Halloo  !  stranger  ! '  said 
an  accomplice  over  the  way,  after  the  fellow  had  gone  off 
with  the  money,  *  what  '11  you  bet  that  ain't  a  stone  you 
have  just  bought?'  'I'll  bet  you  tew  dollars 't  ain't. 
Did  n't  I  see  him  wrap  it  up?'  'I  '11  stand  you  ! '  said 
the  accomplice  ;  '  money  down.'  The  money  was  deposi 
ted  in  the  hands  of  a  by-stander,  the  package  was  un 
rolled,  and  a  flat  rounded  stone  was  all  its  contents !  The 
countryman  staid  about  the  market  for  several  days  — but 
he  has  crone  home  now  ! 


THAT  was  an   affecting  conclusion  of  a  speech   by  a 
venerable  Methodist  clergyman  at  one  of  our  late  religious 

cv  £3 

anniversaries.  He  had  been  depicting  the  sufferings  of 
his  youth  and  manhood  in  proclaiming  the  'glad  tidings' 
of  CHRIST  in  the  western  wilds  ;  often  riding  in  storm  and 
tempest  through  the  forest,  when  it  was  so  dark  that  he 
could  not  see  the  beast  on  which  he  rode,  and  frequently 
sleeping  in  the  dense  woods ;  his  own  hands  mean  time 


THE    CHRISTIAN    TV  A  Y  -  F  A  R  E  R  .          335 

ministering  unto  his  necessities.  He  was  a  poor  wayfar 
ing  man,  he  said,  with  no  cottage  in  the  wilderness,  but 
wandering  like  the  Israelite,  and  lodging  awhile  in  tents, 
till  he  should  reach  the  heavenly  Canaan.  The  fervor 
with  which  the  following  lines  were  given  from  the  lips  of 
the  speaker  brought  tears  to  many  an  eye : 

'  NOTHING  on  earth  I  call  my  own '. 
A  stranger  to  the  world  unknown, 

I  all  their  goods  despise  ; 
I  trample  on  their  whole  delight, 
I  seek  a  city  out  of  sight, 

A  city  in  the  skies. 

'  There  is  my  home  and  portion  fair, 
My  treasure  and  my  heart  is  there, 

And  my  abiding  home  ; 
For  me  my  elder  brethren  stay, 
And  angels  beckon  me  away, 
And  JESUS  bids  me  come.' 


Kfarft  nt  furling. 


WE  must  now  'speed  the  parting  Guest.'  He  has  sat  at  our 
'Table,'  and  partaken  of  the  numerous  dishes  which  we  had 
prepared,  as  well  as  of  several  which  had  been  sent  in  by  friendly 
neighbors,  that  it  might  be  decided  whether  or  no  they  would 
please  the  palate  of  that  many-headed  monster,  'TuE  PUBLIC.' 
If  our  guests  should  not  deem  the  present  fare  too  simple  and 
homely,  it  may  be  that  we  shall  again  invite  them  to  sit  at  our 
board,  and  partake  of  a  repast,  in  which  by-gone  errors  in 
choice  of  dishes,  or  modes  of  cookery,  may  be  avoided. 

Good-bye,  FRIEXDS  !  —  and  may  peace  and  happiness  be  with 
you! 


THE 


ZDITZD      BT 


LOUIS  QAYLORD  CLARK. 


THE  FORTY-FIRST  VOLUME  of  this  oldest  Magazine  in  America  commenced  on  the 
First  of  January,  1S53.  The  work  has  been  so  long  before  the  public,  that  it  is  not 
deemed  necessary  to  enlarge  upon  its  widely-acknowledged  claims  to  general  favor.  The 
annexed  list  of  contributors  to  the  Magazine,  and  a  few  notices  of  the  press,  (out  of 
many  thousands,)  will  sufficiently  attest  its  character  and  its  popularity  : 


WASHINGTON*  IRVING, 
WILLIAM  C.  BRYANT. 
FITZ  GREENE  HALLECK, 

H.   W.   LONGFELLOW, 
.1.   K.   PAULDING, 

I.   SEDGWICK, 
HON.   LEWIS  • 
S!R  E.   L.  BULWER. 
KEY.   ORVILLE  DEWEY, 
R.  H.  STOOD  ARD, 
J.  H.   PRESCOT1. 
HON.   R.   M.   CHARLTON, 
JAMES  G.   PERCIVAL, 
H  >N.    W.   H.   SEYOIID, 

.TARED  SPARES. 
'HARRY  FR.V: 

NATH.  HAWTEOUNE, 
MRS.   L.   H.   SIGOURNEY, 
REV.   DR.  BETHCNE, 
MRS.C.  M.  KIP.KLAND, 
FREDERICK  S.  COZZENS, 

MISS  L: 

W.   D.   GALLAGHER, 
HON.  JUDGE  CONRAD, 
DR.   0.   W.   HOI 

PROF.  H1TCUC 
MRS.   E.   C.   EMBURY. 
WILLIAM   B.  GLAZIER, 
HON.  D.   D.   EARNAHD, 

j.  P.  BROWN,  (Constantinople.) 

GUY   MCMASTERS, 


F.   W.  EDMONDS 

KEY.   MR.   GANNETT.    (MaSS.) 

MR.-?.   OILMAN,    (S.  C.) 

E.   T.   T.   MARTIN. 

H.  W.  ELLSWORTH, 

H.   J.    RAYMOND. 

H.   R.   SCHOOLCRAFT, 

CHARLES  G.  LELAND,   ESQ., 

F.CV.  J.   PIERPONT, 

HON.   G.  C.   VERPLANCK, 

ALBERT  MATHEWS,   ESQ., 

CUL.  T.  s.  M'KENNY, 

JOHN   T.   IRVING. 
ALBERT    PIKE,    : 
'IK  MARVEL.' 
CHARLES  SPRAGUE, 
RICHARD  B.   KIMBALL,   ESQ., 
PARK  BENJAMIN, 
THEODORE  S.   FAY, 
MRS.   FANNY   K.   BUTLER, 
DONALD  MACLEOD, 
J<>SEPA  B   YARNUM.    ESQ., 
CHARLES  ASTOR  BRI- 
PRESIDENT  DUER, 
JOSEPH  BARBER, 
MISS  H.  F.  GOULD, 
E.  W.  B.  CANNING, 
PROF.  CHARLES  ANTHOX, 
ALFRRD  B.   STREET, 
JOHN   WATERS, 
CONSUL  G.   V,'.   GREENE, 
JAMES  BROOKS, 


REY.   DR.   SPRING, 
J.   N.   BELLOWS, 

- )R    FELTON, 
STACY  G.   POTTS, 
MR.  F.  PARKMAN,    (Boston.) 
J.  G.  WHITTIER, 
JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL,  E3Q 
H.   W.   ROCKWELL, 
WILLIAM   PITT    PALMER. 
CHARLES  M.   LEUPP,    ; 
PROFESSOR  BECK, 
HON.   CHARLES  MINER, 
KEY.   FREDERICK   W.  SHELTOS, 
EDWARD  3.   GOULD, 
JOSEPH  G.  CANNING, 
CHARLES  GOULD. 
MRS.    E.    F.    ELLET. 
J.   H.  GOURLIE.   ESQ., 
HORACE  GREELEY, 
REY.   DR.   PISE, 
RUSSELL    SMITH. 
MR.    THOMAS  W.   STORROW, 
GEORGE  LUNT, 
REY.  J.  GILBORNE  LYONS, 
H.    T.   TUCKERMAN. 
MRS.   M.    E.    HEWITT. 
PROF.   JAMES  J.   MAPES, 
JAMES  LINEN. 
REY.   R.   H.   BACON. 
J.   H.   SHELDON,  JR., 
J.   G.  SAXE,    ! 
JOHN  HENRY  HOPKINS,    (Vt.) 


THE  foregoing  list  included  also  ROBERT  SOUTHEY,  Rev.  TIMOTHY  FLINT,  Miss  LAN- 
DON.  JUSTICE  MELLEN,  TYRONE  POWER,  ROBERT  (\  SANDS. ,  C;ipt.  F.  MARRYAT,  WILLIS 
GAYLORD  CLARK,  JOHN  SANDERSON,  the  'America:  in  Paris,'  NICHOLAS  BIDDLE,  Miss 
MARY  ANNE  BROWNE,  (Mrs.  GRAY,)  England,  Rev.  Dr.  BRANTLEY,  South-Carol  inn, 
WILLIAM  L.  STONE,  J.  I!.  HILLIIOUSE.  J.  FENIMORE  COOPER,  Rev.  WM.  WARE.  J. 
H.  STEPHENS,  Hon.  R.  II.  WILDE,  JOSEPH  C.  NEAL.  PHILIP  HONE,  ESQ.,  Rev.  HENRY 
BASCOM.  Rev.  WALTER  COLTON,  HENRY  BREN-QORT,  KSQ.,  WILLIAM  WORDSWORTH, 
A.  BRIHHAM,  Dr.  .IOTIN  NEILSOS,  JR.,  J.  K.  KENNARD,  JR.,  Mass.,  Hon.  JUDGE  HALL, 
(Illinois.)  Rev.  W.  H.  O.  PEABODY,  with  other  distinguished  writers  who  have  "paid  the 
debt  of  nature.'  The  following  notices  of  the  KNICKERBOCKER  are  from  the  American 
and  English  press,  and  from  American  and  British  writers  of  distinction: 

'THE  KNICKERBOCKER  holds  its  own  re- |  cherished  friend.  Here's  a  health  to  thee 
markiibly  well.  Nobody  can  complain  that  ]  'Old  KNICK.  !'  If  the  fates  should  ever  send 
he  does  not  have  his  money's  worth  in  so  thee  to  'Old  Virginia,'  there  is  one  hand  that 
great  a  variety  of  pleasant  reading  at  three  I  will  give  thee  a  cordial  grasp,  and  one  heart 
dollars  a  year.'— BOSTON  DAILY  ADVERTISER.  )  a  friendly  greeting.'  —  PETERSBURG^  (Va. 

'WE  never  read  the  KNICKERBOCKER  but  we    DAILY  EXPRESS. 
feel  as  if  we  were  reading  a  letter  from  a       '  THE  KNICKERBOCKER  is  quite  the  ablest 


repertory  of  original  American  literature  of 
all  periodicals  of  its  class.  Among  its  con 
tributors,  from  the  commencement  of  its 
career,  have  been  the  ablest  and  most 
popular  authors  that  the  country  has  pro 
duced  But  that  feature  which  has  always 
most  attracted  us,  in  this  entertaining  Ma 
gazine,  is  the  Editor's  Table.  Though  occu 
pying  the  last  pages  of  the  work,  we  always 
open  to  it  first ;  and  wherever  in  its  genial, 
cheerful,  single-minded  'Gossip,'  the  eye 
falls,  thence  it  is  led  forward  by  irresistible 
attraction  from  topic  to  topic,  till  the  end.'— 
N.  Y.  JOURNAL  OF  COMMERCE. 

'No  periodical  published  in  America  will 
compare,  for  unflagging,  sustained  interest 
and  variety,  high  literary  character  and 
general  popularity,  with  this  universal  favor 
ite.  It  is  at  once  the  ablest  and  best  maga 
zine  of  its  class  this  side  of  the  Atlantic;  and 
on  some  accounts  we  know  of  none  across 
the  'big  pond '  that  we  prefer  before  it.'  .  .  . 
There  is  not,  on  either  side  of  the  Atlantic, 
so  elegantly,  so  delicately  printed  a  peri 
odical  as  is  our  'Old  KNICK.'  It  is  refreshing 
to  wander  over  its  faultless  pages.'— ALBANY 
DAILY  REGISTER. 

'  Tins  glorious  argosy  from  prose  and  verse- 
land,  tull  frcignted,  luscious  and  spicy,  is  just 
anchored  at  our  desk.  Amid  the  stubble  of 
politics  and  dry-as-dust  news,  it  comes  like 
clover-scented  zephyrs,  fragrant,  balmy,  but 
not,  like  most  delicious  things,  surfeiting, 
ine  KNICKERBOCKER  is  the  American  Maga 
zine  :  'Long  may  it  wave !"— EVENING  MIR 
ROR. 

'  Xo  number  of  the  KNICKERBOCKER  has  ever 
been  issued  under  CLARK'S  supervision  that 
did  not  bear  indubitable  evidence  of  editorial 
care,  and  anxious  thought  and  well-directed 
labor  enstamped  upon  its  pages.  We  have 
known  no  monthly,  of  this  country  or  Europe, 
so  thoroughly  edited,  in  the  strictest  sense 
of  the  term.  In  variety,  in  richness,  in  min 
gled  gayeties  and  gravities,  it  has  never 
been  sin-passed.'— N.  Y.  DAILY  TRIBUNK. 

'The  KNICKERBOCKER  comes  to  us  in  ad 
vance,  with  its  budget  of  good  things  and 
things  of  beauty.  Surely,  the  EDITOR  is  in 
exhaustible.  His  'Table'  is  supplied  from 
the  Cornucopia  itself.'— N.  Y.  DAILY  TIMES. 

'NOTHING  is  more  remarkable  than  the 
unfailing  promptitude  of  this  old  Monthly, 
except  perhaps  its  constant  and  constantly 
increasing  excellence.'— N.  7.  DAILY  COURIER 
AND  ENQUIRER. 

'I  PERUSE  the  numbers  of  the  KNICKER 


BOCKER  with  high  gratification.  They  seem 
to  me  of  an  order  of  merit  quite  above  the 
average  of  the  periodicals  of  its  class,  Eng 
lish  or  American.'-— HON.  EDWARD  EVERETT. 

'I  HAVE  always  felt  a  deep  interest  in  the 
KNICKERBOCKER,  and  taken  pleasure  in  bring 
ing  it  to  the  notice  of  tay  friends.  The 
manner  in  which  it  is  conducted,  and  the 
great  merit  of  many  of  its  contributors,  place 
it  in  the  highest  rank  of  periodicals.'— HON. 
J.  K.  PACLDINQ. 

'  THE  KNICKERBOCKER  stands  high  in  this 
quarter.  It  is  infinitely  superior  to  most  of 
the  English  magazines,  and  well  deserves  its 
large  list  of  subscribers.'— PROFESSOR  LONG 
FELLOW. 

'  THE  KNICKERBOCKER  is  the  best  American 
periodical  I  have  yet  seen.'  .  .  .  'I  take 
pleasure  in  enclosing  you  some  lines,  which 
were  penned  expressly  for  your  work.'— SIR 
EDWARD  BDLWER  LYTTON. 

'THE  KNICKERBOCKER  is  an  honor,  and  a 
high  one,  to  the  literature  of  our  country. 
I  always  feel  that  I  am  conferring  a  favor  on 
the  persons  to  whom  I  recommend  it,  rather 
than  upon  the  proprietors.'— HON.  R.  M. 
CHARLTON,  Georgia. 

4 1  HAVE  read  a  good  many  of  the  articles  in 
the  KNICKERBOCKER,  and  find  them  to  possess 
great  merit.  Some  of  its  papers,  it  is  true, 
were  too  light  for  my  serious  turn  of  mind  ; 
yet  the  whole  appears  well  calculated  to 
gratify  the  tastes  of  the  general  mass  of 
readers.'— REV.  DR.  DICK,  Scotland. 

'  THIS  very  clever  Magazine  is  the  pleasant- 
est  periodical  in  the  United  States.  Its  arti 
cles  are  numerous  and  short,  various  and 
interesting,  and  well  worthy  of  imitation  by 
our  Magazines  on  this  .side  of  the  Atlantic.'— 
I  A  DON  EXAMINER. 

'THE  KNICKERBOCKER  is  one  of  the  most 
valuable  Magazines  of  the  day,  and  out-strips 
all  competition  in  the  higher  walks  of  litera 
ture.  It  is  rich,  racy,  and  varied ;  exhibit 
ing  industry,  taste,  and  talent  at  the  helm, 
equal  to  all  it  undertakes.'— ALBANY  ARGUS. 

'  JUDGING  from  the  numbers  before  us,  we 
are  inclined  to  consider  this  the  best  of  all 
American  literary  periodicals.  Its  contents 
are  highly  interesting,  instructive,and  amus 
ing.'— LONDON  MORNING  CHRONICLE. 

'  THE  taste  and  talent  which  the  KNICKER 
BOCKER  displays  are  highly  creditable  to 
American  writers,  and  very  agreeable  for 
English  readers.'— LONDON  LITERARY  GA 
ZETTE. 


•0 


IP  IB  ®  EOS. 

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copies,  and  upward,  Two  Dollars  each.  Postmasters  will  act  as  Agents.  Specimen  num 
bers  sent  gratis,  on  application,  post-paid.  To  CLUBS,  the  KNICKERBOCKER,  HARPER'S, 
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ness  Communications  to  the  PUBLISHER, 

SAMUEL  HUESTOfl, 

139  NASSAU  STfiEET,  NEW- YORK* 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

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Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


REC'D  LD 

JUN  13 '64 -4  PM 
'6  1977 


8K.  CIS,      OCI  5  0  '76 


LD  21A-50ro-8,'61 
(C1795slO)476B 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


